


Searching For A Light - A Daryl Dixon Fanfiction

by LivingDeadGirl31



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Burn Romance, Violence, action romance, angst romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-30 10:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20770487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingDeadGirl31/pseuds/LivingDeadGirl31
Summary: The world has fallen apart and it seems as if there's nothing left to live for.At least that's how it seemed for Micaela - up until one fateful day when her life is saved by a man with a crossbow.Torn between her dark thoughts and a dark world, can she survive long enough to find the light?





	1. Chapter 1

A growl came from behind me and I spun myself around, lodging my knife into the corpse's skull. I pulled my knife out which was followed by a steady splatter of blood, and turned my attention to the other dozen or so corpses surrounding me. Was this how it was going to end? 

I looked down at the knife I was holding, covered in zombie blood. It was just me against all these flesh-eating monsters in the middle of the woods. The most I'd ever taken down in one shot was at least double the amount I was currently facing, but to be fair I had two guns and a knife. Oh, and food in my system. 

Despite my painful lack of sufficient weaponry and electrolytes, I was not going to go down without a fight. The snarls of the undead filled the air around me and I scrunched my face, letting out a yell. 

"Come get me, you rotting assholes!" 

More determined than ever, they came towards me with their deformed hands outstretched, bloody limbs reaching towards me. I spun a kick hard enough to smash the ugliest one's head in and stabbed my knife through the side of the next one's temple. 

I fought my way through another 6 before my only weapon decided to get stuck in the skull of the thing that was trying to eat me.. There were still 4 more trying to get me and more were closing in on the sides, attracted by the noise. Panic laced through my brain as I realized this was the end. Nowhere to run. No way to fight. 

"Shit," I sighed. I backed away from them until I reached a tree. I glanced up - too high to climb. 

Just as I closed my eyes and accepted my fate, something whirred past my face and hit its target with a squelch. Then another. Then another.  
My eyes shot open and saw the man in front of me fighting off what was going to be the cause of my demise. I scanned the bodies on the floor in search of my knife embedded in a skull - once I had an opening I ran and pulled it free. 

As the man shot another arrow into the zombie's head, another lurched itself at him and tried to bite the exposed flesh on his shoulder. 

"Incoming!" I yelled as I kicked its legs, making it fall to the ground. I dropped down on one knee and drove my knife through its head right after it gave its final snarl. 

The man ran forward and retrieved his arrows before turning to face me. 

"Let's go! We don't got all day," he yelled in a gruff voice. I picked myself up from on top of the body and ran after him. 

****  


We walked in silence, though the distant snarls of the undead and noises of active insects was loud. I didn't know why I was following him - for all I knew he could be leading me to some secret camp where he was planning on skinning me alive, mixing ne with some carrots and making people-stew. I guess it didn't really matter. 

About 10 uneventful minutes passed before I spotted it - prison towers. As we got closer to the facility, the huge prison gates loomed over me and I stared in awe. Wooden spikes criss-crossed the area around the metal gate, trapping the corpses like bugs in a spiders web. Smart. 

The man in front of me yelled out to somebody I couldn't see and the doors slowly swung open. I stared at the angel wings stitched into his black leather vest and smiled at the seemingly cosmic joke. Whoever this guy was, he was my angel. 

I silently followed him into the safety of the prison fences, eyeing the speared zombies on the side as I walked past. Through the fence I could see people in the distance, and what looked like crops growing freely opposite them. They had food and safety. That was more than I could say I'd had in ages. 

The gates swung closed and suddenly he turned to face me, crossbow pointed at my face. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, hysteria bubbled through my veins and a laugh escaped my lips. I doubled over with laughter and leaned against the chain-link fence for support. I could feel his eyes burning through my head, as well as the other pair of eyes beside him - the one who opened the gate. 

"Ya crazy or somethin'?" He barked in a raspy voice. I wiped a tear from my face and stared at the woman standing next to him, a puzzled yet stern expression on her face.

"Well I was about to die out there. I really thought today was the day Hell gained another damned soul," I stated. "Then you showed up out of nowhere, save my life, lead me into a prison, then aim that damn thing at me like you're about to kill me despite having just saved me," I pointed out, letting out a small giggle once again. 

The man looked at the dark-skinned woman and then back at me.

"Got any more weapons?" The woman suddenly spoke, eyeing the knife I was still holding. I shook my head and offered her the blade, handle first. She stepped towards me and took it carefully. There was silence for a minute before he spoke again. He lowered his weapon and looked at me through the long strands of hair that fell in front of his cold eyes. 

"How many walkers you killed?" 

"Walkers?.." I questioned. 

"The dead things. How many?" He asked, his gruff voice impatient. 

"Uh," I paused before answering, "about a hundred, give or take." 

He shifted.  
"How many people ya killed?" 

The question stung me like a bullet to the chest.  
I looked down at the ground. 

"Um...one," I answered thickly. It's not something I ever wanted people to know about. I guess now it wasn't so unusual to have murdered people as it was back when things were still normal. 

"Why?" He stared at me. Something about his gaze seemed uneasy. He seemed almost...wild.  
"He uh... he deserved it," My answer was simple, but seemed to satisfy them both. 

The two looked at each other again. The woman nodded slightly. Her thick dreadlocks framed her face, which had an exotic beauty about it. 

"What's your name?" She asked softly. 

"Micaela." 

She nodded her head towards the man who saved me, "That's Daryl. I'm Michonne. Welcome to the prison." 


	2. Chapter 2

Eyes pierced me as the woman - Michonne - lead me into the prison. My eyes scanned the area, unsure of where to look. I don't remember when last I saw so many people in one place. 

The sun cast a radiant glow over the courtyard of the prison. People sat at tables eating food, and children ran freely in the area laughing loudly. The noise was unusual but understandable, considering the impressive fences that guarded this place. There were probably people guarding in the watchtowers too, no doubt. Despite being in a strange place and just recently have been attacked, I felt almost... safe. 

I looked to my left and noticed a blond guy staring at me, a small smile etched into his face. Creepy.   
My gaze returned back to Michonne who walked with a level of confidence I would never know. The katana slung to her back swayed slightly with every step she took. 

Her voice broke through the awe that filled my mind.   
"Rick should be in C-Block. He'll talk to you, explain everything."   
I nodded and folded my arms over my chest, suddenly nervous.   


"Um, where's the guy that helped me out there?" I questioned. He seemed to have disappeared the moment I set foot on the prison grounds within the outer gate. 

"Daryl. Probably went back out," Michonne answered shortly. She placed her hand on my shoulder and led me into the entrance of the giant building. After walking through a few corridors I heard voices echo from the inside. 

Ahead I saw a large cell block containing multiple cells. Sheets hung over the entrances, a meek attempt at privacy. 

A man sat with a young boy at a small table near the edge of a cell block. The boy was holding a baby. A baby? 

The man turned to face us when our presence was made known, and he slowly got up. Nervously, I tucked a long strand of my dirty hair behind my ear.   
The boy looked at me then back at the man, who raised his eyebrows at Michonne. 

"This is Micaela. Daryl found her out in the woods fighting walkers," she explained simply to the man.   
He had the most blue eyes I'd ever seen. His kind face was coated in a fine layer of lightly graying stubble, matching is slightly graying hair which delicately curled at the bottom. 

I smiled weakly and lifted my hand as a form of greeting, my other hand tightly clutching the end of my long-sleeved shirt. 

The man nodded slightly at me and introduced himself.   
"I'm Rick. Rick Grimes," he added. Rick nodded his head towards the brown haired boy that moved to stand next to the man, "and this is my son, Carl. And that's my baby girl, Judith"   
Carl offered me a small smile which I returned. 

Rick Grimes gestured to the many cells that surrounded us.   
"This is C-Block. I'll get someone to show you around the place - some corridors here are filled with walkers so steer clear of those," his voice was light but also mildly rough. It was oddly soothing. The man looked at Michonne and she nodded. It was like they could communicate telepathically. 

"You can stay here from now on. I'll get Carol to bring you a clean shirt," Rick said, making me glance down at my blood soaked sweater. Maybe that's why everyone was staring at me when I walked through the grounds earlier.   
"And later on tonight we'll find you a cell," he finished. 

I made my way closer to the man. My nervousness had all but vanished in his calming aura, and gratefulness flooded through my heart. My eyes met with his and I smiled. 

"Thank you. Truly. It's been so long since..." I trailed off. He simply nodded, clearly understanding me. 

I had a feeling things were going to be good here. 

***

About a half hour later a sweet lady with cropped gray hair introduced herself to me as Carol, and handed me a clean shirt. I changed into the clean (and thankfully) long-sleeved shirt, which smelled of sunshine and light smoke. 

I made my way around the now dark compound, exploring the layout. A few people made an effort to introduce themselves to me - a young girl named Beth and a kind Asian guy called Glenn. The people here seemed nice enough, but it was still a lot to get used to. 

Silently, I made my way through the crowd of people and into the more silent area of the prison. Walking until the voices of the people became a distant murmur, I ended up near the crops I had seen earlier that day. Further on by the outer layer of chain-link fences I could see them; the walkers. 

I sighed and laid down on the soft grass, which was slightly wet from night time dew. The sky above was dark but was lit up by a thousand glittering stars. It was weird to think about. With all the shit that happened the world down here got so ugly... and yet the night sky remained untouched and more beautiful than ever. 

My eyes closed gently and I slowly drifted into a light sleep. 

Unsure of how much time had passed, footsteps nearby sprung me back into consciousness and I instinctively reached for the knife in my belt - my hand gripped nothing. I forgot that I had given it over. I cursed silently and screwed my eyes in the darkness, trying my best to see who was approaching. 

"Ya should be inside," the familiar rough voice came from the darkness. My pounding heart slowed a little upon the realization that it was the man who saved me. 

"Uh, yeah, okay," I responded shyly and began to get up. I brushed off my black jeans and turned to face him in the dark. The moonlight shone a small glow onto him, lighting strands of his hair silver. I noticed that he still had his crossbow with him even though he was safe in the prison.   
Maybe he just got back. 

I hesitated for a second before speaking. 

"Daryl, right?" I asked the man. 

He nodded slightly but remained silent, not looking at me in the eyes. Feeling slightly awkward I folded my arms across my chest. 

"Thanks. For saving me, I mean." 

Daryl muttered what sounded like 'yeah' - guess he wasn't much of a talker. I brushed past him and made my way back to the prison. Grass crunched softly behind me so I knew he was headed back too, following closely behind. 

I stopped when I got to the courtyard, unsure of where to go next. Daryl appeared next to me and nodded his head toward the one entrance. 

The courtyard that was previously alive with the sound of people was now silent. The people had obviously all gone to their cells, and it made me wonder how late it really was. 

The man walked into the building and I silently followed. When we got to cell-block C I was lead up a small set of stairs to the upper level of cells. Daryl pushed aside a white sheet that hung from the entrance and nodded to the cell, which contained a small sink and a bunk bed. On the bed was a thick pillow, two blankets and my old sweater - clean now, by the looks of it. Balanced on top was my knife. 

I entered the cell and gave Daryl a small nod before he dropped the sheet flap and left without a word. 

I peeked through the crack between the sheet and the cell wall, a part of me wanting to know where he was going, where he was going to sleep. I guess I felt safer around him, though nervous as hell. The man was intimidating. 

In the dark I saw the faint glow of stitched-on angel wings and the outline of a crossbow headed away from my cell. To my surprise, he settled on the landing by the stairs rather than in a cell. Only then I noticed a pillow and some crumpled blankets on the cement floor. Carefully he placed his bow down on the ground and laid down on top of the blankets, heaving a small sigh that echoed through the massive room. 

I turned to face my own cell and made my way onto the bed, tucking my knife under the pillow. After what seemed like a millisecond, I was asleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

I finished tying the laces of my dirty black sneakers and made my way out of the cell and into the courtyard. Carol smiled as I brushed past her, swiftly making my way to the front of the prison. I adjusted the strap of my backpack and made my way through the crowd of people - many greetings fluttered my way and I tried my best to avoid conversation.   
  
The past few weeks in the prison had been good - _really good_. For the first time in months, I wasn't totally alone. There were people everywhere almost all the time.   
And sometimes.... _sometimes_, it seemed like I could forget about the world out there beyond these fences. In here, we had a community, we had good people and friendly faces - hell, there were even animals.   
  
Though the crops were growing well, it wasn't enough to constantly feed mouths, so food was still a never-ending issue. I was always brought back to reality when I went on runs - one of which I was currently heading to.   
  
My feet crunched on the gravel and I spotted Daryl leaning against an old pickup truck, waiting for my arrival so that we could hit the road.   
  
Suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder and I spun around to face the blondie staring at me; the same guy that smiled weirdly at me when I first got here. Initially I thought the smile was an attempt to hide his disgust at my bloody, dirty figure when I made my grand entrance into the prison that first day, but it turns out he just smiles a lot - no, smirks - and always seems to be watching me.  
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and plastered a tight smile on my face, staring up at his blue eyes.   
  
"Hiya Jason," sweetness coated my voice. He looked down at me and pulled his mouth up at the corner into that godawful smirk. I wanted nothing more than to just smack the smug look off of his baby face.  
He never did anything specifically to upset me, but I've dealt with fuckboys before and Jason here was no exception. I avoided him like the plague - yet for the past two weeks he always seemed to be breathing down my neck.   
  
"Hi princess," Jason bent down, his breath tickling my cheek.  
"Be safe out there," he paused. "Make sure to come back in one whole, pretty piece," he added with a small wink.  
Ugh.  
I turned on my heel and turned my back to him, making my way to the truck.  
"Yeah," I called out to Jason and made my way to the archer, who quickly turned his gaze away from me and hopped into the drivers seat of the truck before loudly slamming the door.   
  
Just as I was about to get in, crunching gravel turned my attention to a very sweaty Rick. He wiped his forehead with the blue rag in his hands and motioned to the truck.   
  
"Hey, you guys ready?" Rick asked, looking at me and then to Daryl who was sitting impatiently in the truck, scowling straight ahead. Usually it was Daryl, Glenn and I on the runs, but the cheerful Asian voiced his desire to 'skip out' on this one to give Maggie some piece of mind for a change. So inevitably it was just Daryl Dixon and myself.   
  
"Yeah," I smiled at Rick, which was followed by a grunt from Daryl - most of his vocabulary seemed to just consist of 'hmph'.   
  
I tucked my knife into my belt and tugged the sleeves of my long flannel down to cover my hands. Pulling the handle of the truck door, I hoisted myself into the musty cab. Before Rick gave us the go-ahead, he passed me a small pistol through the cab window.   
  
I shook my head. I didn't like guns. Despite my rejection, Rick nudged the weapon towards me.  
"Please, it's safer," he insisted.   
  
My fingers gripped the cold handle of the gun and I quickly tucked it away. Rick slapped the side of the truck and the engine revved. Daryl sped out of the gates and past the walkers that permanently lined the fence. Silence filled the truck.   
  
Things with Daryl always left me with an aura of uncertainty. From the day he saved me out in the woods, we seemed to be on good terms. Of course he didn't talk much - that was just him - but the silence was comfortable, and conversation was short but sweet. And if ever there were signs of trouble, Daryl seemed to always place himself in front of me, seeming oddly protective of me. I got to realize that although he was quiet, he was caring and..kind.  
Up until about two weeks ago.   
  
All the decency that made up Daryl Dixon seemed to vanish. Whenever he was with me, he either remained silent or ended up arguing about something. Truthfully, it hurt. And it was damn frustrating not knowing what I'd done to deserve the sudden ill treatment from someone that I actually liked.   
  
Pushing the thoughts from my head, I stared at the walkers in the distance. Their skin was a pale shade of gray, some missing limbs, others missing chunks of flesh from their faces. Gnarly.   
  
"Seems like they're increasing every day," I muttered softly. The biters were everywhere, and more seemed to be attracted to the prison daily. It was kind of terrifying. The fences were strong but everything had its breaking point.  
The hunter beside you offered no response.   
  
The growl of the truck lasted another half hour before it halted in front of a lone warehouse surrounded by overgrown grass. Glenn said that it was an old Wal-Mart storage warehouse and that it was worth giving it a shot, considering the last time he drove past it the huge metal doors will still intact and bolted. Plus it was one of the few places we hadn't yet ransacked.   
  
Daryl hopped out of the truck and slung his crossbow against his back. I followed suit and secured my mostly empty backpack to my shoulders. He grabbed something out of the back of the truck before making his way to the massive doors. Following him, I pulled my gun out and held it ready, looking out for any sign of movement.   
  
The chain on the doors snapped and Daryl handed me the bolt cutters to place in my backpack.   
  
"Ready?" he asked and turned slightly to me. I nodded and held my weapon up, arms steady despite how nervous holding a gun made me. Daryl raised his crossbow and kicked the door open. A few seconds went by before we entered the surprisingly cool warehouse.  
Small windows lining the high walls offered enough light in the huge room, and I gasped at the shelves.   
  
Our footsteps echoed through the large building. About half of the metal racks lining the inside were empty, but the other half were filled with various useful things. Dusty cans were lined up perfectly alongside boxes of other edible goods. A small smile crept onto my face and I hurried to the shelves, shoving the cans into my backpack. For once we actually hit the jackpot.   
  
The large amount of cans soon filled the large backpack - peaches, baked beans, spaghetti, spam, fruit cocktail. We were going to feast. My eyes scanned the room for the familiar angel-winged vest and crossbow. My heart skipped a beat when I realized he was nowhere to be found.   
  
I dropped the bag, sending cans rolling across the dusty floor and I raised my gun. The back of my neck tingled with the familiar sensation of fear. I walked carefully and quietly through the warehouse before calling his name.   
  
"Daryl?"   
  
No answer. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, breaking the worrying silence that surrounded me. Suddenly my ankle rolled and I was sent flying backwards into a shelf, loudly knocking a metal rack over. The shelf and all its contents came crashing to the dusty ground. The loud noise echoed through the building and I winced.   
  
Footsteps crunched outside before Daryl's form appeared in the doorway of the old storage unit. He ran towards me and surveyed the damage with a stern face, limp hair covering his eyes.   
  
"I'm okay - just stepped on a stupid can and fell," I explained and stood up, brushing the dust from my pants. Daryl scowled at me.   
  
"Ya think walkers are gonna care whether ya stood on some damn peaches? Be more careful next time 'fore you get us both killed," he growled, his forehead creased with lines. Before I could respond, he turned away and stormed for the exit. My face flushed red at the outburst - why was he being such an asshole?   
  
"Shit." I looked up to see Daryl backing away from the entrance, followed by walkers. First a few, and then a dozen, and then way more than we knew we could handle. The man yelled out to me and my eyes spotted the second exit near the back. I could hear the sound of arrows striking flesh. I ran towards the herd of grotesque and putrid smelling walkers, each of which were hungrily growling. I fired at the head of each monster before hearing the unmistakable click of an empty gun.   
  
"Dammit!" I yelled, tossing the pistol to the side.   
  
I placed my hand on the hunter's arm and we began to fall back, eyes scanning the increasing amount of walkers headed in our direction.   
  
"Exit at the back! Now!" I yelled, my voice making the flesh-eating creatures even more determined to claw at our bodies. Daryl turned and nodded, and we ran for the exit at the back.   
  
He began pounding furiously at the single wooden door, our only chance of getting out of here alive. I positioned myself ahead of the man and pulled my knife out, ready to stab any skulls that got too close. Daryl looked at me and for the briefest moment, I could've sworn there was a glint of something other than anger there. I looked back at him before returning my gaze to the oncoming 'geeks'- as Glenn had called them.   
  
"Keep trying to get that door open, I'll held them off," I said quickly and stabbed my blade through the temple of a scrawny dead one. As each came closer, I drove my blade through its skull, sometimes opting for a good old-fashioned roundhouse kick to another one's head.   
  
A loud bang from behind me indicated that the door was open, and I turned to head out before it grabbed my ankle. My left arm caught on something and the sound of ripping flesh filled my ears as a walker pulled me down, my chin colliding with the ground, sending black spots into my vision. I heard a grunt and an arrow firing before the grip on my leg loosened.   
  
Daryl quickly bent down and hoisted me up to my feet, stabbing another walker in the head with his own knife before moving. Grabbing my arm, we ran until the snarls of the undead were no longer near enough to be heard.   
  
Both Daryl and I dropped to the ground, chests heaving for air. An orange glow settled on the trees, sunset filling the sky. This was supposed to be a quick run.   
  
I sat up and looked at my burning arm. The long flannel sleeve was shredded, as well as the skin beneath it. A large gash covered my forearm, soaking my shirt in blood.   
  
"Your arm," his voice was gruff and, if I didn't know better, laced with concern. I looked up at Daryl and saw his mouth slightly parted, eyes staring at my arm with an almost wild look in his eyes.   
  
We were too far from the prison to walk back before the sun went down, and the truck was no longer a viable option. It looked like we were stuck out here for the night.   
  
***   
  
After walking for about another half hour, both of us stopped and took a breath. We were far away from the dead and in an isolated area; that was about as safe as it was going to get.   
  
I looked up at my partner, a questioning look etched into my clammy face. Daryl placed his bow down and plopped himself on the ground against a tree trunk, his elbows resting on his knees.   
  
"As good a place as any," he mumbled before I sat down a few feet away from him. I cradled my bleeding arm subtly against my abdomen, hoping to not attract Daryl's attention. The wound itself didn't seem bad enough for stitches, but the idea of him seeing what I tried so hard to hide sent nausea and panic through my body.   
  
"Lemme see," he said softly, staring at me through his dark hair. I shook my head and forced a smile onto my face.   
  
"I'm good, it's nothing," I brushed it off and placed my interest on a small rock ahead of me, hoping to deter the hunter's attention too. Without success.   
  
With a small grunt the man crouched his way over to me and grabbed my arm, pulling it towards him to survey the damage - both of the past and the present. 


	4. Chapter 4

Crickets chirped rhythmically and a small night time breeze made the trees around us come alive. I tried to focus on the peaceful sounds in an attempt to erase the feeling of unease knotted in my stomach. Daryl stared down at my gashed arm, my scarred wrist exposed.  
  
Old white lines patterned my skin, layered with fresher, newer scars that were purple and slightly raised. My cheeks burned and I pulled my wrist out of the archer's steel grip, avoiding his gaze.  
I was always ashamed of it, so long sleeves and pants became my best friend. Although people always tried to act like they understood, they never did. All it ever earned me were looks of disgust or some TED talk type shit. Either that, or people thought I was a total psycho that deserved to be locked in a padded room and the key thrown into the same deep dark depths where my sanity had vanished.  
  
I could feel him staring at me.  
  
_Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't look at him._  
  
Suddenly I felt warm fingers wrap themselves around my wrist, exposing my scarred and bleeding arm once again. His fingers moved around the open wound, tracing my scars delicately. Despite every fiber of willpower in my body, I couldn't help but shiver at his touch as my heart pounded faster.  
  
I slowly turned my head to face Daryl. For a brief moment, our eyes met. My cheeks burned even more than before as I scanned his face. His mouth was slightly parted, and his eyes were filled with emotion that I rarely spotted in him. Time itself seemed to slow as my heart pounded faster and faster. His glistening eyes scanned my own, then moved down to stare at my lips.  
  
And just like that, the moment was over. Steel seemed to coat his face once more, returning it to its natural hard expression. Daryl reached behind him to pull out the red cloth he always seemed to keep nestled in his back pocket and began to tie it around the cut. He tied the cloth, securing it to my arm.  
  
"Tha-" I began to thank him before I was cut off.  
  
"Be more careful next time. Don't wanna have 'ta bandage you up every time we go on a run," he growled. "Don't have the luxury of playin' doctor - or babysittin'," he added and turned to slump himself back against the tree.  
  
It was the most he'd said to me in weeks, and yet none of it felt good. I was just forced to reveal one of my biggest insecurities to him and that's all he says? Anger bubbled through my veins.  
  
I scoffed and lifted myself off the ground, turning to face the asshole sitting against the tree who happened to be staring at the same rock I had been staring at just moments before. My heel crushed the dirt beneath it as I turned away from him and marched in the opposite direction. Yes, it was night time and no, I had no idea where I was going. I just had to get away from him.  
  
A moment passed before I heard footsteps behind me.  
  
"Where d'ya think ya going?" I ignored him and kept walking aimlessly, most likely about to end up in another herd of walkers or falling down an unseen ditch.  
  
"Ya ain't even walkin' in the right direction if ya wanna get back 'ta the prison."  
  
I huffed and kept trudging through the grass. The cold night air blew onto my face - a nice change from the face-melting heat of the Georgian sun during the day. Grass crunched beneath my sneakers and I heard no other footsteps. Good.  
  
A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped out of my skin before eyeing the man. I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and persisted on.  
  
"Ya gonna get yourself killed," Daryl warned, and that was when I snapped. The anger within me overcame any rationality or self-control that still lingered. I spun around to face him.  
  
"Yeah? So what if I get killed, asshole?" I yelled at him. My voice probably traveled far and had the potential to attract every walker within a 50 mile radius.  
"Why do you care, huh?" I continued my rant.  
"If I kick it then you'll finally be free of having to babysit me all the goddamned time! I'll be out of your hair and you can finally be at peace, without me getting in your way or using your precious time to bandage me up, Daryl!"  
I hadn't even notice the tears that had sprung into my eyes until a warm drop slid down my face. Tears of frustration. They made me seem weak. Maybe I was weak considering I got so riled up by something he said.  
  
I stared at him, breathing heavily. My hands shook and my head pounded like someone was hammering their way into the center of my brain. Angrily I brushed the tears away from my face. A mixture of hurt and anger flashed across Daryl's face and I almost felt guilty - emphasis on almost.  
  
"'S not what I meant," he mumbled gruffly and turned his attention from my eyes to the ground.  
  
"Sure," I responded before brushing past him towards where we decided to settle for the night. I was tired and wasn't ready to face whatever dangers I'd find out there alone. Also, I forgot my knife.  
  
***  
  
Waves of heat rolled off the pavement ahead, distorting the image on the horizon. The previous night had been filled with restless sleep and silence. Both of us wanted to get back to the prison as soon as possible and escape the uncomfortable intensity that lingered in the air between Daryl and I. Unfortunately we still had another 3 hours to walk, with no food or water to help us get by seeing as everything was dropped during the attack yesterday.  
  
Fantastic.  
  
A stray walker snarled and hobbled its way onto the road, jaws snapping lazily at us. It was missing an arm and was hunched awkwardly to the side as if someone had broken its spine sideways. Using my only remaining long sleeve, I wiped the sweat off of my face before heading towards the biter.  
  
"I got it." I pulled out my knife and rammed it through the thing's bottom jaw at an angle, sending the blade into its skull. I wrenched out the knife and the walker dropped.  
  
Stopping to kill the walker had given Daryl ample time to catch up to me, so we walked side by side for the first time that day.  
  
"Didn't mean what I said," Daryl said so softly I almost didn't quite hear it. It took me a second to realize that he was talking about last night. His form of apology shocked me into silence, not knowing what to say next. I looked at the hunter walking beside me.  
  
"Jus' got 'ta thinkin'. Ya don't need me 'ta do shit for ya," he added. I stopped walking and turned to face him, my eyebrow arched in confusion.  
  
"What?"  
  
Daryl just shook his head, shifted the strap on his crossbow and kept walking. I stood still and stared at his back, walking away from me. Conflicting thoughts fought for dominance in my brain - speak or don't speak?  
  
"Daryl wait," my arms propelled me forward as I jogged to catch up with him. He turned to look at me, a sort of shyness on his face.  
  
"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. I mean, I wouldn't be alive. Hell I would've died a few weeks ago in the woods if it weren't for you, Daryl," Though it pained me to admit, Daryl had saved me more times than I could count. I relied on him, even after he stopped talking to me.  
  
"Yeah?" His said, seeking confirmation. I nodded.  
  
We continued on in silence, though slightly less uncomfortable now. A moment passed.  
A few minutes.  
An hour.  
  
"Why'd you stop talking to me?" I suddenly blurted out. Daryl stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me. His face showed no expression, though I scanned it till he answered, the unexpected words almost slapping me in the face.  
  
"Ya didn't need me no more. Ya got Jason," he murmured.  
  
"Jason?" Confusion tore at my brain as I attempted to decipher what the hell he meant. Then it hit me.  
"Oh my god, _Jason?_" Disgust seeped through every word which make it Daryl's turn to be confused.  
"You stopped talking to me because of that dickweasel?" I couldn't help but let laughter bubble from out of my lips, what seemed to be my natural response to anything that surprised me.  
His eyebrows furrowed as he watched my double over laughing, bringing back memories of that first day. Once I'd regained my composure, I spoke.  
  
"Daryl, Jason and I aren't friends - I can't stand that creepy son of a bitch, always smirking and expecting every girl to swoon in his presence," I shuddered at the thought.  
  
Did Daryl really stop talking to me because of Jason? Was he...jealous?  
  
_Don't be ridiculous. Daryl is just Daryl._  
  
"As far as I'm concerned, you're the only person I really at the prison," I said.  
"You're my only friend," I added softly, thinking he wouldn't hear it. But by the way his ears turned a slight shade of pink, I think he did.  
  
***  
  
It was late afternoon when we returned to the high fences we called home. Rick, Tyreese and Glenn rushed to meet us by the gate, relieved that Daryl and I were safe, though disappointed when they heard about the unsuccessful field trip.  
  
Gravel crunched beneath us as we walked towards the building. Up ahead stood Jason who reached out to cup my face as I approached him.  
  
"Are you okay? Come back in one pretty piece like I asked?" I swatted his hands away from my face and walked past him. A look of fake hurt made its way onto his face before Daryl walked by him, forcefully using his shoulder to slam the blond out of the way. I grinned at Daryl, who's mouth tugged up a bit at the corner - as close as I was going to get to a smile from the archer.  
  
It was good enough for me. 


	5. Chapter 5

_Squelch._  
Thud.  
Snarl.  
_Squelch._  
Thud.  
Snarl.  
  
I took a step back and surveyed our progress. A pile of dead walkers lined the bottom of the fence, though more continued to snarl and try to get a taste of human flesh through the chain-link. I looked over at Glenn and Maggie, who also took a breather.  
  
"Feels like we've been doing this for the whole morning," I frowned and pocketed my blood-coated knife, flicking my fingers to ease the cramps in my hand.  
  
"It looks like we've barely made a dent," a tired Maggie complained as she lifted her hand up to her sweaty forehead. Glenn nodded in agreement, panting in the heat.  
The noise we made in here as a community always attracted walkers, so everybody took shifts to stab the relentless biters through the gaps in the fence in an attempt to maintain the integrity of of our main form of protection.  
  
"Water," Glenn muttered a single word, enough to persuade his wife and I to cease work. We tiredly followed him up to the courtyard to retrieve water from the life-saving blue water tanks.  
The liquid instantly soothed my dry and burning throat, replenishing my mood and easing a smile onto my face.  
  
The three of us made our way to a shaded area and sat down, breathing heavily. Despite the overwhelming heat of the day, Maggie sat against Glenn, leaning her head on his shoulder. A twang of jealousy pierced my chest at the sight. They're lucky to have each other - to have found love in such a shitty situation. Though if anyone deserved it, it was them.  
  
It was unlikely that anyone would find their other half and manage to get married amidst the mess, but Glenn and Maggie Rhee were the exception. It was kind of beautiful.  
Most people had found their loves before the world seemed to end - and most of them had families too. I eyed the kids in the distance who were staring at the dead through the fence, laughing and waving at them childishly - no doubt drawing more attention. Great.  
  
"Where'd all these people come from anyways?" I asked the couple. I knew they'd been here from the start, so they would know.  
  
"Some are people we came across in the woods or something. Most of them came from Woodbury though," Glenn responded lazily, motioning his head towards the people that walked through the compound.  
  
"Woodbury?" The name sounded unfamiliar.  
  
"It's a town, barricaded and protected, run by a total psycho though," it was Maggie's turn to respond. She sounded almost...angry.  
  
"What happened?"  
There was a moment of silence, then Glenn answered.  
  
"The Governor, the psycho that runs the place... he wasn't a good man. Killed a bunch of his own people. Tried to kill us..." he trailed off, staring into the distance.  
  
"The townspeople didn't know what he was - it wasn't their fault," Maggie continued this time, "so we took them in, helped them."  
I nodded slowly, processing the situation. I paused.  
  
"So some deranged guy tries to kill everyone, and Rick still had the decency to protect his people? To trust them?" My voice was puzzled. It was difficult to trust anyone out there - people will put a bullet through your head just for a can of baked beans. Hell, people are often more terrifying than the ugliest walkers.  
The couple nodded.  
  
"They're good people though. Most of them," Glenn smiled at Maggie who rolled her eyes. I arched an eyebrow in confusion, oblivious to the inside joke. She noticed my puzzled face and laughed, bringing a smile to my face.  
  
"Jason, the rapey-face one," she explained, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes and laugh, nodding in agreement.  
  
"Yeah, he's a real creep," I laughed as I played with the frayed end of my long sleeves.  
  
"Bet Daryl just loves him being around you," Glenn said as the couple shared a knowing look, then looked at me, my face scrunched in confusion. They laughed together and shook their heads.  
  
Glenn stood up and brushed off his pants before offering a hand to each of us girls. He sighed and eyed the rattling fences in the distance.  
  
"Back to work."  
  
***  
  
Hershel lightly dabbed the gash in my arm with a liquid-soaked cotton ball. Thankfully ignoring the scars, he wrapped a bandage around my forearm and secured it with a pin. I smiled gratefully at the aged man, who smiled back with so much care in his eyes.  
  
"Within a week you should be right as rain, my dear," he said cheerfully and placed his hand over my dirty one. He stared into my blue eyes and gave a quick nod, patting my hand before I got up.  
  
"Thank you, Hershel," I rolled down my sleeve and turned to head towards my cell.  
  
It had been a long day of stabbing walkers, and the heat seemed to drain all the energy from my body. My feet ached as I walked up the small set of stairs to my cell. Most people were in their beds at this time of the night, a kind Hershel just staying up later to tend to my minor wound when I came back from my duty. Maggie's father was truly a saving grace.  
  
I made my way past Daryl's empty sleeping place on the landing. The blankets lay in a crumpled mess, and his satchel and crossbow were gone. He'd been out since the crack of dawn this morning and I hadn't seen him since. Sometimes he would disappear and not return for two days - he was like a cat.  
  
I bent down and picked up his rumpled blankets, folding them neatly and placing them beside his pillow. His masculine sent wafted off of the linen, instantly filling my sense with him. I smiled at the neat bed setting and walked across the landing to my own cell, careful not to wake anyone. Luckily I didn't have cell neighbors - everyone was downstairs.  
  
I pushed the sheet aside and stepped into my private space, placing my knife under my pillow. Shrugging off my long sweater, I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to release the tension gripping my muscles. The air felt good against my bare skin, which was used to being restricted and covered up. I moved towards the sink close to the foot of my bed and stared at the grimy face that looked back at me in the mirror. Long brown hair framed my face which slightly browned from the sun. I stared into my own tired eyes in a trance-like state before a whistle made me jump.  
  
A figure stood by my cell door, grinning at my bare skin, shamelessly staring at the sports bra that covered my chest. I gasped and reached for the sweater that lay on the floor.  
  
"No, no, don't cover up, princess. You look great," Jason's voice cut through the darkness.  
  
"Get out," I spat at him and placed my hands on his chest, attempting to push him out of my room. His hands gripped my wrists tightly and he pushed me against the cool concrete wall.  
I struggled against his hold, grunting with effort.  
  
"Get off me!" I yelled at him, still struggling. Jason pinned my arms to the side of my head and leaned forward, breathing on my face. He placed his mouth on my exposed neck, kissing and slightly sucking at my skin. Nausea burned through my stomach.  
I pulled my head away as far as I could from his disgusting face.  
  
Shifting both my wrists to above my head and pinning them down with a single hand, the man traced his other hand down my neck and my breasts until his fingers slipped inside the waistband of my jeans.  
This was not happening. This couldn't be happening.  
  
"Don't touch me!" My voice hurt from my scream, and I squirmed away from his touch, only to be pinned against the wall by his hips pushing into mine. I tried to look anywhere but at him.  
  
"Don't act like you don't want it, princess," his breath was hot against my face.  
"I know you play hard to get, but we both know this is what you want," his hands pushed deeper into my jeans and tears pricked at my eyes. Why was this happening to me?  
  
The feeling of his hand in my underwear made me tremble, and I gathered as much liquid into my mouth before spitting it into his face. Anger crossed his face, and I saw the devil that hid beneath his skin. He removed his hand from my jeans and punched my face before sliding it back under the material.  
  
"You stupid bitch! Just be a good girl and let me take care of you." Tears spilled down my face and bile rose in my throat as his fingers slid between my thighs. This was it. I screwed my eyes shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking into his eyes while he used me.  
  
Out of nowhere, the sound of flesh hitting flesh forced my eyes open, and Jason was knocked to the floor. In an instant Daryl Dixon was on top of him, landing punches to his face rhythmically. My hand flew up to my mouth, stifling a sob.  
  
"Don't ya ever touch her again!" He yelled gruffly, punching Jason square in the nose. His face was bloody and already seemed to be swelling, and yet Daryl kept punching.  
"Or I'll be ya worse goddamned nightmare," one final punch put an end to Jason's consciousness.  
  
I stood against the wall, my body shaking so bad it felt as if my knees were about to buckle. Silent tears slid down my face. Daryl got up off of the unconscious man and hurried over to me, surveying any damage. He snagged my sweater from the floor and held it to my chest. Slowly I grabbed it and held against myself, staring at the bloody man on the floor.  
  
I wanted more than anything to thank him, but sobs escaped my lips instead of words. After a moment of hesitation, Daryl pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around my trembling frame. I pushed him away, not wanting anyone to ever touch me again. Then almost immediately afterwards I walked towards him and placed my head against his chest. He said nothing, just letting me cry until my sobs developed into small sniffles.  
  
I pulled away from him and slid my sweater on, still shaking. I wiped the tears from my swollen eyes.  
  
"'M sorry," I mumbled into my sleeve, too ashamed to make eye contact with Daryl.  
  
"Got nothing 'ta be sorry for. It's that asshole's fault," he snarled. I didn't need to look at him to know he was staring at my attacker. I shifted my gaze to him laying on the floor.  
  
"Thank you, Daryl," I whispered, finally looking up at the man who saved me. He looked at me and nodded shyly, suddenly seeming awkward.  
  
Daryl walked over to the unconscious Jason and grabbed his ankles, dragging him out of my cell. I followed until we got to the end of the passage to an empty cell. Understanding what was happening, I pushed the already-open cell gate even wider and Daryl dragged the man to the corner of the room. We stepped out and I slammed the gate shut, which instantly locked.  
  
"We got the keys. We'll deal with him in the mornin'," he grumbled and we walked away from the cell. I remained silent. Daryl lead me back to my cell and I paused, staring at the puddle of coagulating blood in the center of the room. He brushed past me and walked towards my bed, grabbing my pillow. Then he turned around and lead me out of my room.  
  
Confusion muddled my brain before I realized. He dropped my pillow next to his on the landing. He unfolded the blankets which I had neatened and laid it down on the ground, leaving one extra.  
  
"Rest," he ordered and I slowly made my to the makeshift bed. Once I was settled, Daryl placed himself next to me, a foot of space between us. Still, I could feel the heat radiating off his body.  
  
The night was silent and dark. My eyes were wide open, fear stopping them from closing. My heart pounded in my chest. I could still feel his hands on my body, my chest, my...  
  
A whisper came from the man next to me, the man who saved me.  
"He ain't gonna hurt ya no more."   
  
A warm stray tear ran down my cheek and I sniffed. I was okay. I was okay because of him.  
Slowly, my eyes slid closed and sleep overwhelmed me. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
Thank you for reading this far, it means the world to me.
> 
> Trigger warning: The following chapter contains self-harm (not graphic)

"Are you okay with this?"   
  
I swallowed thickly. My brain felt empty - devoid of any thoughts. I didn't want to think, I didn't want my conscience to get in the way of this.  
I knew that sending him out there was the same as killing him, but did it really matter? Did I care if he died? Did I care if I was the one responsible for his demise?   
  
"Micaela," Rick called out to me, attempting to redirect my attention back to him. I hadn't answered his question. I didn't know the answer.   
  
Jason stood in front of me, held in place by Daryl's tight grip. His face was swollen and bruised, the result of the archer's anger after what he did to me.   
  
This morning I woke to find Daryl gone, and the cell my attacker was in was empty. He had taken him to Rick and explained last night's occurrence, letting the leaders decide what to do - Daryl, Rick, Carol, Hershel, Maggie, Glenn. They decided to banish Jason from the prison - no food, water or weapons. As good as killing him.   
  
I nodded weakly, avoiding Jason's darting eyes. Daryl growled in response and shoved the man towards the large metal doors. Rick pulled the rope that allowed the metal gates to swing open, Michonne and Carol at the ready to fight any incoming walkers.   
  
A sob rose from out of Jason's swollen and cracked lips.  
"Please don't do this, please," he begged, resisting against Daryl's restraining hands. Rick moved forward and the man flinched before the ropes binding his wrists were cut loose.   
  
Trapped walkers impaled by wooden spikes snarled and stretched towards us, and more of the biters made their way to the gate, attracted by the noise.   
  
Michonne swung her blade cleanly through the head of a rogue corpse, and Carol lunged forward and drove her knife into another one's skull.   
  
"Gotta do it now, Rick. More are coming," the gray-haired woman eyed the lurkers making their way closer to the compound. The sheriff looked at me, and I turned away from him and stared straight into Jason's fearful eyes.   
  
"Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he continued to beg, his free hands trembling. "I'll die out there, I'll die!"   
  
"Good," Daryl spat and shoved Jason forward beyond the gate and in the direction of the walkers. With a loud groan, the gates swung shut.   
  
I could hear the sound of loud snarls and bodies hitting the ground, followed by footsteps running away from the prison and into the forest.   
  
The four of them stared at me in silence.   
  
"What?" I snarled and turned my back on them, marching towards the crops. I didn't need their sympathy. A whole spectrum of conflicting emotions tore at my insides and I didn't need them to determine 'sad and weak' as the dominant one.   
  
I just had to keep mind busy. Pissed off and uncaring, I rolled up my thick sleeves and grabbed a bucket. My knees ached as I bent down to the garden and filled my hands with fallen, messy vegetables and stalks to dump in the bucket. Once the metal holder was full of slop, I walked over to the pig pen. I dumped the contents of the bucket into the wooden feeders and took a step back, staring at the piglets, breathing a heavy sigh.   
  
"It's not your fault."   
  
Carol approached me, her face tired but kind. I looked at her and then down at the ground.   
  
"He got off with better than what he deserved, in my opinion," she continued. Carol placed her hand under my chin, forcing me to look in her warm eyes.  
While she was one of the strongest women I knew, her caring motherly side often shone out of her, more than the kick-ass-take-no-shit side.  
Her presence was comforting.   
  
I shook my head and her hand dropped from my chin to my shoulder.   
  
"Micaela, he was an asshole. And a danger. We just hadn't figured that out yet. I'm just sorry you had to be the reason we found out."   
  
Once again, I shook my head and finally broke my silence.  
"I was weak, Carol. I should've fought harder, I should've done something more -"   
  
"It's not your fault," she said slowly, making sure each word sank in.  
Nodding slowly I turned my attention back to the animals.   
  
The pigs wolfed down the slop while the piglets pushed at each other in a small muddy patch.   
  
"Daryl wanted to kill him. That's why I say that asshole got better than what he deserved. If it were up to Daryl, he would be dead - killed right then and there. But he knew that you would've blamed yourself if he killed Jason, no matter how much he deserved it. And we all know that he can't stand to see you hurt."   
  
And with that, Carol headed back to the prison. I slumped down to the ground, wrapping my arms around my legs.   
  
I didn't want to feel weak any more. I didn't want to be weak anymore.   
  
***   
  
My feet dangled over the edge and I rested my elbows on the railings. I cold night air sharpened my senses. It was my turn to be on watch tonight, and I was grateful for the time alone.   
  
I held the binoculars up to my eyes, the movement rattling the gun strapped to my back. It was difficult to see in the darkness. Nothing interesting strayed within my field of vision aside from the walkers. I placed the binoculars next to me and stared up at the sky, filled with stars.  
It was beautiful.  
In the distance, walkers snarled. Crickets chirped. My heart beat steady. This was one of the rare moments where the world actually felt peaceful. I turned my attention to the sleeves of the sweater I was wearing.   
  
I pulled up my sleeves and analysed the scarring.   
  
None of the marks were ever pointless, not to me. Each scar represented something; hurtful words, bad days, broken hearts, an attempt to escape the numbness.   
Cutting was always something I could never stop. I tried and tried and tried, but I always failed, shattering like glass every time someone hurt me. Every time my father hurt me.   
  
Once the world fell apart, it was easy to stop. I had bigger issues to worry about. But in the dark I think of what Jason did, and I wanted the pain. I wanted to feel a blade slice into my skin and see the hurt bleed out of me.   
  
Time flew by, just me in the darkness. The sound of the door swinging open startled me, not realizing what the time was. It was midnight - the next person was coming to take over watch, ending my shift.  
I looked down to see the familiar dirty boots.   
  
Stretching out my limbs, I stood up. I removed the rifle from my body and handed it to Daryl, who gave me a silent nod, which I returned.   
  
As I was about to exit the tower, his fingers found my arm and I turned to face him.   
  
"Ya good?" he asked in a low voice.   
  
With a sudden pain in my chest I realized that I wasn't.  
I shrugged and pushed through the door, leaving the platform.   
  
***   
  
Sleep didn't come to me. I sat up and faced the wall in my cell, the same spot that I had been pressed against.  
The blood on the floor had been cleaned. By who I did not know.   
  
The knife glistened in the dark as I twirled it through my fingers. My heart beat grew faster, as it always did when I made my decision.   
  
I brought the blade to my left wrist, eyeing the healing wound from a few days ago. With a quick slice, crimson leaked out of a cut and down my arm. I repeated the motion over and over again until I had run out of space. Then I switched hands and moved to the other wrist, cutting down the length of my forearm. New cuts covered old scars.   
  
I didn't feel a thing.   
  
And then suddenly I felt everything.   
  
The blade clattered to the floor. I shot up off the bed and paced across the cell, gripping my hair in my hands. Hot tears dripped down my face and onto my tank top.  
My mind raced as thoughts tore at the walls inside my mind, ripping and shredding and destroying until all I could do was drop to the floor and scream a silent scream.   
  
My mouth was stuck open wide as I screamed with no sound. I screamed until my face was burning and there was no more air in my lungs.   
  
Then finally I stopped. The cold cement embraced my body as I curled into a fetal position, the blood still dripping silently from my arms.   
  
I closed my eyes and listened to the silence around me. My breathing. A soft snore from downstairs - probably Tyreese. My heart beat.  
Then I fell asleep. 


	7. Chapter 7

I woke up groggy and moody. After cleaning up the evidence of my mental breakdown last night, I pulled out a clean red and black flannel and reported downstairs.  
  
It was my turn to tend to the crops this morning.  
On my way to the garden I brushed past Carl and pushed his hat down playfully, which he reacted to with a small laugh.  
  
Outside I saw Beth and Tyreese, both of which were joining me in the garden. They greeted me cheerfully and I smiled, but said nothing.  
  
Plucking and pulling and scraping made up most of the morning. The sun wasn't as harsh as it had been the past few days which made everyone in the prison happy. The last thing I needed was the sharp sun shining in my tired eyes.  
Beth and Tyreese chatted happily while they worked.  
  
"You look like shit Micaela, not gonna lie," the large man finally addressed me. I continued working while replying,"Just tired."  
I examined my grimy hands and frowned at the dirt that lodged itself uncomfortably beneath my nails. Gloves would be nice.  
  
"Are you okay?" It was Beth's turn to speak. Her words maxed up the level of my moodiness and I sighed in annoyance.  
"It's okay to not be okay, you know.. especially after what happened," she said softly.  
  
That was it. I stopped what I was doing and scowled at the young girl.  
  
"And what does it have to do with you, huh? Is everybody just getting involved in my business now or what?" I yelled at her. My volume turned a few heads and Beth looked taken aback.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset -" she started, apologetic.  
  
"Just leave me the hell alone," I snapped.  
  
I know she was just trying to be nice, but why did everybody know about the incident? Why did everybody care? Why couldn't anyone just back off?  
  
Common sense allowed me to know I was being irrational but I didn't give a damn. I stomped off in a huff.  
  
I stormed through the compound, no particular destination in mind. Anywhere without people was good. Probably looking as if smoke was coming out of my ears, people moved out of my way. Once I'd reached the other side of the prison, I turned to the left and a shoulder collided with mine.  
  
"Jesus, watch out!" I snapped at the person and kept walking.  
A hand wrapped tightly around my wrist and I winced sharply at the pain, and Daryl suddenly let go of my arm as if it burned him. I scowled and confusion settled on his face for a second, then something else that I couldn't quite pinpoint.  
I glared at him as he grabbed my arm and ripped the sleeve up, the material harshly scraping against the numerous cuts.  
Daryl glanced at my arm and pulled my other, doing the same. I ripped my arm out of his grip and let both sleeves fall.  
  
"The hell is your problem?!" He yelled suddenly, his words more pronounced now that he was angry. I glared at him. I wasn't in the mood.  
  
"Bite me," I snapped in response. The man pushed out his chest in anger and shot me one hell of a dirty look.  
  
"Ya think being upset gives you a good reason ta hurt yourself?" Daryl growled, heightening my anger.  
  
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about."  
  
"Then help me understand," his voice was angry but his soft words counteracted his tone.  
  
Daryl was my friend, and I wanted to confide in him, to tell him everything. But I knew I couldn't. My emotions threatened to spill out of me like a damn wall caving in.  
He already knew too much.  
  
"Go to hell," I said and walked away from him. I didn't want to hurt him, but there was no hurting Daryl Dixon. He didn't care for anybody. He'd be fine.  
  
"Fine! I'm done tryna help you!" The man yelled from behind before I heard his footsteps storm off in the opposing direction.  
  
A lump formed in my throat. I wasn't going to cry again - I was done with tears.  
  
My back slumped against the prison wall, which was slowly heating up in the dull sunshine. It was quieter this side of the prison than anywhere else. I slowly heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose; a fruitless attempt to dull the throbbing in my head.  
  
In the distance I heard the engine of a motorcycle roar to life and I knew he was gone. That was Daryl's go-to when he was upset. He just disappeared without a word.  
Quite frankly it scared the shit of me. If anything happened to him, that would be on me.  
  
Guilt stabbed my chest. I made my trek around the prison and back to the gardens where T-Dog and Beth were still working. Beth looked at me through a single curled strand of hair that had fallen in her face.  
  
"I'm sorry," awkwardness filled my voice, "for being a bitch," I added.  
  
Tyreese raised his eyebrows and looked between me and the girl. Without a word she moved forward and wrapped her arms around me. It took me a second, but I soon hugged her back.  
  
"It's all right. I'm sorry for bringing it up. How about you keep helpin' us here? Many hands make light work," she smiled and gestured to the crops.  
  
I nodded and headed to the water pump. After struggling for a few minutes, I realized the pipe must have been clogged up with mud again. I sighed and shielded my eyes from the sun, looking out for Rick. I spotted him by the pigs, and headed in his direction.  
  
"Rick!" I called out to him. He turned around, wiping his sweaty brow with his dirty arm.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Pipe's clogged up again!"  
  
He turned in the direction of the water pipe that was right in the way of walkers, and turned back to me before nodding.  
  
"A'right, we'll work on it tomorrow!" He called back finally before returning his attention to the pigs. The pipe got clogged frequently, and it was always a 2-people effort to get it fixed; one person distracting the walkers while the other focused on prying out mud from the tube.  
  
Tending to the crops was a good way to keep my mind off of things, but I couldn't help but worry about the archer. But he could take care of himself.  
  
Soon the sun started setting, and the work was finished for the day. Walkers were attracted by the fire within the camp, so everybody retired to the courtyard. Except for me.  
  
I stared in the general direction of the pipe beyond the fence and weighed my options.  
Waiting for tomorrow when I had backup would be smarter, but fixing the pipe now would be quicker and it would mean less of a delay on the work tomorrow.  
I sighed and pulled out my knife.  
  
The undead were mostly gathered by the main gate and entry point, so I scanned the fences until I found the part on the fence that was held closed by twirled wire. I would go through there and sneak around the back.  
  
The wire was more difficult to undo than I thought, but after a few minutes it finally gave. The metal hooked into my shirt as I pulled my way through the gap.  
  
When I was finally free, I eyed the backs of the growling biters.  
The pipe was located by a small wooden bridge a few yards out. If I moved quickly, I could make it.  
  
Grass crunched softly beneath my feet. Holding my knife out in front of me, I made my way to the bridge.  
Once I reached my target location, I crouched down and fished the pipe out of the slushy water. A puzzled look made it's way onto my face.  
  
The pipe wasn't clogged, but the two parts making up the pipe had been separated. That wasn't done with ease and couldn't have detached by itself. So...How did that happen?  
  
With a moment of realization I spun around just as I saw the figure coming towards me.  
A sharp pain cracked against my skull and everything went dark. 


	8. Chapter 8

Another blow hit my face.   
  
My head swayed back as the sharp ache spread from my nose and into my cheekbones, my eyes watering profusely. Once the black spots had cleared from my vision, I stared at the sunlight filtering through small windows. If it was daytime, that meant I'd been gone since sunset yesterday.  
I was so tired...   
  
The smell of iron filled my nose, but I couldn't tell whether it was from the metal walls that surrounded me or the blood that was dripping from my face. I spat the blood from my mouth.   
  
The one-eyed man eyed the mixture of blood and saliva distastefully.  
"It doesn't have to be this hard, you know," he stated, rolling up his sleeves even more. My blood coated his knuckles and I glared at him.  
"Just tell me what I want to know."   
  
I scoffed. "You lured me out there, attacked me, kidnapped me and now you're beating me up," my voice hoarse but strong.  
"And now you expect me to work with you?" I tuned my attention away from him and rolled my eyes.   
  
The man shuffled over to a lonesome chair and dragged it until it was in front of me. He perched himself on it, leaning back lazily as if beating up girls was his everyday job. The man who introduced himself as The Governor heaved a heavy sigh, and looked at me in my swollen eyes.   
  
"It's nothing personal," the Governor smiled, "When I disabled that water pipe, I didn't know who would come out to fix it or if they would come alone - but I took my chances," he leaned forward and I shifted uncomfortably.  
"It just happened to be you."   
  
Suddenly he shot up out of the chair and landed a punch to my stomach, leaving me gasping for air. The pain in my stomach seemed to spread from my diaphragm to my kidneys and up my spine. His face remained expressionless and cold. When Maggie spoke about him I didn't realize he looked this menacing.   
  
"I just want to know about the prison," the Governor said slowly, before continuing.  
"How many people are there? Do you have guns? And _do you have my people?_" He counted off each question on his fingers, making as if it was so simple to answer them and practically guarantee the death of my friends.   
  
My silence earned me another punch to the face. I could feel my eyes were bruised, my lips cracked and bleeding, blood dripping from my nose as well as from other wounds in my face. The worst part about the situation was my bound hands - I was defenseless.   
  
"Why do you want to know so badly? How does this help you in any way?" I questioned him. I was aware of the people in the prison that came from Woodbury, and how they didn't realize they were being lead by a sadist. But what I hadn't realized before was that the Governor had no idea that his people were now staying in the prison, ready to stand against him.   
  
He sat back down on the metal chair and gestured to his eye patch.  
"Do you know who did this?"   
  
I remained silent.   
  
"Michonne," he said gravely, "Now I know for a fact that she's cozied up to you and your group. I've seen her through the gates." "She stabbed glass through my eye," he paused for a moment, and a look of hurt crossed his face.  
"And she killed... she killed my daughter. My Penny.." the man trailed off.   
  
I didn't know any of these things, but over the past few weeks I'd come to know Michonne, and I knew that if she did do the things he'd said then she had a good reason.   
  
"So by right, I get to kill her. Also I want the prison, and I want Rick Grimes dead because he killed my people," the cold man stood up from his chair and kicked it across the room. The crash echoed loudly, causing me to wince.  
"And I'm not okay with that," he added, "so you're going to help me get what I want."   
  
"Go to hell," I spat at him, my voice laced with venom. The Governor shook his head and heaved a sigh, then swung at me once again. With a loud crack, I lost consciousness.   
  
***   
  
Cold water splashed on my face, forcing me awake. My eyes painfully fluttered open to find the Governor in front of me, leaning down to my eye level.   
  
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he stood up straight and backed up to lean against the iron wall.  
"You were out for almost 24 hours! I almost thought you weren't going to wake up," he remarked and crossed his arms over his chest.   
  
"Why don't you just leave me the hell alone?" I croaked hoarsely, my throat aching desperately for water. It felt as if someone stuck a hot poker down my throat.   
  
"Why don't you just answer my damn questions?" The Governor retorted, suddenly stalking towards me. I didn't care what he did to me. I didn't care anymore.   
  
No one needed me alive.   
  
"Bite me," I snarled. The words echoed through my head as I realized those were the last words I'd ever said to Daryl Dixon. I'd die knowing that the last words I had with someone I cared about were bite me.  
But...did I care about him? He could be a total asshole... but he was the only person I actually really liked. The hunter did save me, after all.   
  
I shut my eyes, very well expecting another punch. But instead I heard a ripping sound and suddenly my wrists were free. The flannel has crinkled where the rope had been holding me down for almost 2 days. Instinctively I reached up to ease the ache in my wrists, forgetting about the angry cuts lining them.  
I looked at the Governor questioningly.  
He pocketed the knife he held and looked at me.   
  
"Get up," his voice was calm, but stern. Tiredness lined the creases of his face.  
I remained seated, wary.  
"I said get up!" He yelled suddenly. The sound of his voice echoed throughout the spacious empty room, making me wince as my head throbbed. I cautiously stood up, and he moved towards me. I backed way from him until I felt the cold wall pressed against my spine.   
  
"I think I know how to make you talk..."   
  
His large hands stroked my cheekbones and slid down my neck.   
  
Not again.   
  
"Take off your shirt."   
  
Not again.  
Not again.  
My lip quivered and my mind replayed the events of a few days ago.  
Not again.   
  
"Fine. I'll do it for you," he sighed against my face.   
  
I shut my eyes but refused to cry as he slid the flannel from my shoulders. The material hit the floor and he pressed his nose against my face, almost as if he were smelling my skin. His fingers traced their way down my shoulders, down my arms and to my cut up wrists. My eyes shot open.  
Then he faltered.   
  
Taking a small step back, he held my arms in his large hands and looked at the damage I had inflicted upon myself. The Governor threw my arms down forcefully and paced to the other side of the room in a huff, seemingly upset. I stared at his arched back as he stared at the floor.  
He muttered something to himself before whistling.   
  
As if on cue, a brawny bald man entered the cold room and came towards me. My attempt to resist was futile, and the man successfully pinned me to the icy floor. I growled in protest.   
  
Before I knew it the Governor was straddling me, his knife glinting in his hands.   
  
"Send your fellow inmates my regards," he snarled in my face before putting the knife to my chest, "and remember, x marks the spot."  
I didn't have time to be confused.   
  
The blade pierced and cut my skin, and I screamed, my voice tearing up my throat. After what seemed like an eternity of pain and flesh-cutting, the big helper stood up and his boot collided with my head with a sickening crack.


	9. Chapter 9

I don't remember much.  
  
When I was little, we used to have barbecues on the weekend in the yard right by the swimming pool. My dad would be grilling burgers, my mom making lemonade.  
  
My little sister and I would spend the whole afternoon in the water. My favorite thing to do was swim right down to the floor of the deepest part of the pool, while she would sit on the edge and watch me go down.  
She'd try and talk to me to see if I could hear her from that depth.  
I never could - only her muffled voice, and the other muffled voices that belonged to my mom and intoxicated dad.  
  
I remember how peaceful it was. The darkness of the water (I was always too scared to open my eyes), and the muffled voices of my family.  
  
This was similar to that, only it wasn't peaceful.  
It hurt.  
Everything hurt.  
And I couldn't just swim to the surface when I had enough, or ran out of air. 


	10. Chapter 10

I could feel my body move, my arms and legs swaying.   
  
Smell of leather, sweat, and something distinctly masculine.   
  
Arms under my knees and across my back - I was being carried.   
  
Growling.   
  
More movement.   
  
Then more blackness... more stillness.   
  
***   
  
The voices were muffled at first, and I tried my best to resurface.  
I could hear things and smell things, but it was as if my body was a puppet whose puppet master had left, rendering it useless.  
I was just stuck on the bottom of that swimming pool.   
  
I could slowly begin to make out certain words.  
_Concussion. No infection. Safe. _   
  
"Anything?"   
  
A shuffle.   
  
"She'll come around, Rick. She's a fighter."   
  
***   
  
"Hershel."   
  
Movement.   
  
"Micaela, can you hear me?"   
  
My eyes fluttered slightly, resisting the idea of opening and bringing the world into view. With some difficulty, I pried them open and I felt my hand twitch.   
  
Hershel's face came into view as he placed his hand on my forehead. Sudden movement from the end of the bed redirected my attention Daryl, who was now standing beside our make-shift doctor.   
  
All at once it hit me, and I jerked abruptly, a scream erupting from my mouth.   
  
_"No! No! Don't touch me!"_ I thrashed violently.   
  
"Calm down, calm down, you're safe," his soothing fatherly voice shushed me. I scrambled into a sitting position and scanned my surroundings with darting, anxious eyes.   
  
I was in my prison cell. I was safe. I was with Hershel. It was okay.   
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," my breath shuddered and my shoulders shook. They stared at me. I shifted uneasily, my movement suddenly making me wince.   
  
Hershel explained that I had a concussion and was pretty beat up, but I was okay for the most part.  
My head was throbbing, my wrists were burning and my chest... my chest.  
I looked down and gasped at my damaged skin.   
  
An 'X' was carved into my pale skin right above my heart. A sob racked my body, and Hershel stepped away from me, allowing Daryl to take his place.   
  
"X marks the spot.." I whispered through my sobs. The two men exchanged a glance before the hunter spoke to me.   
  
"What does that mean?" His voice was low, careful.   
  
I thought back to what The Governor had said before responding.  
"H-he said... x marks the spot," I stuttered.   
  
"Who said that, Micaela? Who did this to you?" His voice was soft but they were laced with venom, making my heart shudder.   
  
I looked up at Hershel, and then at Daryl.   
  
"The Governor. He's going to kill me and then kill all of you," I whispered softly.   
  
***   
  
The four of them stood outside the doorway to my cell, talking quietly among themselves.  
Rick and Carol seemed to dominate the discussion, Michonne chipping in occasionally while Daryl remained silent, biting a fingernail.   
  
I looked down at my bandaged wrists, avoiding paying too much attention to the swollen letter carved into my chest. The concrete wall held all of my attention until the sheriff entered the room with a concerned look on his face.   
  
Ricked perched himself on the edge of my bed, his weight shifting the thin mattress.   
  
"What happened?" He looked at me softly. They told me I'd been gone for a little over 2 days. For days I was stuck in that room while he...   
  
My throat seemed to close up, but after a moment I explained.  
I told him about the trap with the water pipe, about the things the Governor wanted to know, I told him everything - almost everything. He listened to me carefully, taking in every word as the other three people stood back.   
  
"Your face, your chest. He did that." It didn't seem to be a question, but I nodded anyway.   
  
Silently he gestured to my bandaged arms. My throat knotted up and my face burned. I shook my head.   
  
Rick sighed, looking pained. He offered me a hand and helped me up, my body weak. Then he pulled me into chest, his arms wrapping around me.  
After a moment he pulled back slightly and pressed his lips to my forehead. Calmness took over my body and I closed my eyes, enjoying one of the first good moments I'd had in what felt like forever.   
  
"You'll be okay," Rick whispered before he let go of me. When he exited the cell, Michonne followed behind him, as did Carol. Daryl met my eyes, holding my gaze for a second before turning and leaving me alone.   
  
Still trembling, I shuffled over to the small, grimy mirror that was attached to my cell wall. The face that stared back at me seemed cracked, just like the glass itself. A dark bruise made up the majority of my cheek, and my lip was split open. A long cut ran from my hairline down to past my right temple.  
Great.   
  
My heart felt heavy, and I knew that being alone and moping was not going to benefit me in any way. Dark spiraling thoughts threatened to consume my mind, but I resisted. Taking the glass of water on the floor beside my bed, I splashed it onto my face before marching out of my cell, feeling strong.   
  
Heads turned in my direction as I walked out of the prison building and past the busy people outside. It brought back memories of my first day.  
Heading over to the fences lined with walkers, I stopped when I fell in line with Tyreese, a stranger and Daryl.   
  
Ignoring the raised eyebrows and weird looks, I held out my hand and look at them.   
  
"Somebody gonna hand me a knife or what?"   
  
With a surprised whistle, Tyreese grabbed an extra knife out of his belt and handed it to me.  
I turned to the disgusting creatures clawing at the fence and started stabbing them through the fence, ignoring everyone around me. Concussion or not, I was still alive and that meant I could still do my part around here.  
With every thrust of the knife came a surge of anger, hatred and pain. Killing walker after walker without rest, my arms began to protest.   
  
When sunset came, the bandage around my right arm was red with either the blood of the walkers, or my own. I sighed and wordlessly handed the blade back to Tyreese, then marched back up to the building.   
  
Only a few minutes passed in my cell before Daryl popped into the doorway with bandages in his hand. I raised an eyebrow at him.   
  
"Gotta change those," he motioned to my arms.   
  
"I can do it myself," I retorted.   
  
He chewed on his bottom lip and nodded slowly, then responded, "I know."   
  
He came towards me and started undressing my wounds. It felt strange having someone know about it, like a part of me was gone. I felt vulnerable.  
I watched him as he worked.   
  
His fingers were soft and gentle, careful not to hurt me while he cleaned and covered the cuts.   
  
"How long?" Daryl sat next to me on the bed and stared at the floor.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"How long have ya been doin' that ta yourself?"   
  
"9 years," I answered without hesitation. I thought about it everyday, taking note of how long it's been a part of me - because that's what it was. It was a part of me.   
  
Silence hung thick and heavily in the air.   
  
"I'm sorry," I murmured. Down below, the sound of people getting ready for bed filled the building.  
"For what I said, y'know... before.."   
  
"Doesn't matter," he said gravelly.  
"They're glad you're back. Rick's glad you're back," Daryl's tone went from somber to... bitter?  
I cast a sidelong glance at the man.   
  
"Rick?"   
  
"We all saw your little moment earlier," his voice cut through the quickly darkening cell. I scoffed loudly. Unbelievable.   
  
I was about to snap at him, but I remembered the guilt I felt after our last squabble and decided to take a better approach.   
  
I sighed and turned to face him.  
"That was just Rick being Rick... you know that," I said calmly.   
  
Daryl didn't respond. His eyes were trained on the floor.   
  
"Can I... tell you something?" I hesitated. There was something about the dark and the nighttime that made it easier to say things you'd rather keep out of the light. When it was dark, talking about the deepest, darkest parts of oneself didn't seem so hard... it was almost natural.  
He nodded, still not looking at me.   
  
"You obviously know what happened with Jason," my voice was soft, and I swallowed thickly.  
"When he took me... the Governor, I mean.. he, uh..." I trailed off, my voice now barely a whisper. In the blackness I could sense Daryl's body tense up.   
  
"Did he do it too?" he asked darkly.   
  
I fidgeted with my hands and nodded slowly.  
"Well he uh.. he wanted to, he tried to... but he stopped," my body shuddered at the thought.  
"Something stopped him," I added.   
  
I took a moment to breathe before getting to my point.  
"That's why when Rick held me like that... it was comforting. He wasn't trying to hurt me, or get something from me. He just... cares."   
  
It was quiet. Everyone was asleep by now, leaving only the hunter and myself upstairs and, most likely, awake.   
  
He nodded slightly, and I felt his eyes glance over the X in my chest.   
  
"I'll kill him," Daryl finally growled.  
"That prick ain't gonna lay another hand on ya ever again."   
  
"It's not your job to save me, Daryl Dixon," I whispered softly, although it seemed as if that's all he'd done. That first day out in the woods; when we were out by the warehouse; when Jason attacked me, and all the other times that I may not have even realized it.   
  
I wasn't some damsel in distress who needed saving... but I appreciated it nonetheless.   
  
"He left ya in a goddamned truck 'ta die, and that's not a'right by me."   
  
"Wait... What?" Confusion wracked my brain as the unfamiliarity of what he just said failed to ring any bells.   
  
"I don't remember how I got back here," I reminded him softly.   
  
"Ya wanna know how?" He got up off the bed and paced the small area in front of me.  
"He left ya in the back of a truck all cut up and bleeding, surrounded by them walkers," Daryl was angry. He was real angry.   
  
In the back of a truck?   
_Smart,_ I thought.  
That way I was protected enough so that the walkers wouldn't get me, and I could still deliver his stupid message.   
  
"How did anyone find me?" I questioned him.   
  
"Sasha was in the guard tower... Saw walkers surround something, found the truck and saw a body in the back," he stopped pacing.  
"We fought ta get ta you, but none of us knew if ya were..." His voice broke lightly and he trailed off.  
"Ya weren't movin'," Daryl added finally.   
  
My heart felt like it was being torn open at the sound of his voice. Everything was my fault - if I'd only listened to Rick and waited to to fix the pipe...   
  
I stood up of the bed and moved to stand by the man, looking at him.   
  
"But I'm fine...I'm alive," I murmured reassuringly, "that's all I can ask for."   
  
"Yeah," Daryl mumbled. Our eyes met and he took a small step towards me, making my heart race for some unknown reason.  
He lifted his hand as if to touch my face, but after a moment of hesitation his hand dropped back down to his side.   
  
Wordlessly, Daryl turned and left my cell. 


	11. Chapter 11

Judith cooed in Rick's arms as he shifted her, Carl holding the large sheriff's hat above the baby in an attempt to shield her sensitive skin from the morning sun. My heart grew warm at the sight.   
  
"Be safe," Rick gestured to the 5 of us.   
  
The warning from the Governor had weighed heavy on everyone's mind. In preparation for whatever threat might appear in the future, Rick decided to send out 2 groups today on a run. Daryl, Sasha and Michonne were heading out to look for more weapons and ammunition, while Glenn and myself were headed out to find food of the canned variety.   
  
I glanced at Daryl who shot me a look. I understood. It was unusual for us to be separated on runs, seeing as we worked good together. But the archer's skills were needed more with Michonne and Sasha in the more risky places in comparison to the convenience store Glenn and I were going to check out.   
  
Glenn drove the dingy Opel Kadett for about 40 minutes before we reached the run-down store in a small suburban area. The place looked relatively clear of the undead, which was a relief for the both of us.   
  
We walked in silence past a few buildings as to not attract any unwanted company.  
On our way to the store, Glenn stopped and stared into a desolate McDonald's.   
  
"Don't," I groaned. "Once the thought of a Big Mac gets inside my head, it's not gonna leave."   
  
He turned to me with a pained look on his face.  
"God, what about their fries? Or nuggets?" He moaned and we kept walking, glass crunching under our shoes.  
"As much as I like you Glenn, I'm pretty sure I'd kill you in exchange for a cheeseburger."   
  
He feigned shock and gasped playfully.  
"You'd kill me? Seriously?"   
  
I rolled my eyes.   
  
"Okay fine... maybe not kill you," I sighed, "but seriously injure, most definitely."   
  
He laughed as we approached our target location. I placed a finger to my lips and motioned for him to get behind me.   
  
The sliding doors were unhinged and shattered, and the windows were smashed in.   
  
Inside the store there were 3 walkers, easy enough to take down. I entered the store and pulled out my knife, Glenn following suit. I'd been offered one of the plentiful guns back at the prison, but they always made me uncomfortable. Aside from the time at the warehouse with Daryl, the last time I used a gun was one I preferred to never think about.   
  
Once we'd killed the walkers, we scanned the mostly empty store.   
  
"Seriously?" Glenn sighed and stepped over the bodies. The shelves were empty, save for a few bottles of ketchup and some stale mints. He shoved the goods in his backpack with frustration.   
  
"How is it that the only time it's not illegal, there's sweet nothing to steal?"   
  
"I mean it's technically still illegal," I responded and walked ahead of him before continuing, "it's just that everyone who cared is dead."   
  
Something flashed in the sunlight, catching my eye. I walked over to the small key chain stand by the cash register and stared at various names that dangled from metal hooks. In blue letters with a silver outline I saw the name 'Carl'. Smiling, I snagged the key chain and pocketed it, then stared a door behind the till.   
  
I whistled to my partner, who turned his attention the door I was staring at. With a nod, Glenn followed me to the back room, where we might have some more luck finding extra stock. I wrapped my hand around the dusty handle and jiggled it - the door was locked and we glanced at each other.   
  
"I got it," he whispered and pulled something out of his pocket. In less than a minute, the door clicked open and he smiled smugly at me. The store room didn't have any dangers lurking within, and we excitedly spotted a stash that someone had stored there. There were tins of fruit cocktail, corned beef and beans - about 18 of each. In addition to that was a pack of 12 bottles of water and 4 cans of energy drinks.   
  
"Jackpot," he giggled and we started packing our mostly empty backpacks. Once they were full and each of us weighed an additional 30 pounds, we quietly headed out.   
  
The world seemed quiet. The only sound was of the crunching glass and gritty dirt as we walked on it.  
At least up until Glenn's stuffed backpack knocked the loose glass door on the way out and it smashed to the ground.   
  
"Crap," he said and both of us looked around expectantly. Then the decaying corpses started filing out of the desolate buildings around us in dozens.   
  
Seeing the dead coming at you was never something you got used to, so my body froze with fright as I surveyed the situation before snapping back to reality.   
  
"We gotta run! The car's just down the road!" I yelled and we started bolting.  
Doing an awkward penguin run with a backpack wasn't an effective way to escape the walkers, and soon they were on our asses.   
  
Sweaty and tired, both of us turned around to face the snarls and started fighting off the ones that were too close for comfort. I drove my blade under the chin of a walker with only half a face. The other side was ripped up and oozing, displaying rotting teeth and raw putrid skin.   
  
"Car, now!" Glenn yelled, and I realized his knife was stuck in the skull of a walker that was now being trampled by its buddies, trying to get to us.   
  
We ran until the crappy Kadett came into view. I shoved my backpack into the backseat next to Glenn's and we jumped into the safety of the car. Soon, the wheels screeched against the tarmac and we sped away from the herd of the dead, panting.   
  
"That went well," he sighed, making me to laugh. I nodded as we headed back home.   
  
***   
  
Rick's eyes filled with what I could only peg as relief when Glenn and I emptied out our backpacks.   
  
"I'm guessing that it went well," there was a small laugh in his voice as he scanned the items. There were a lot of us which meant the food wouldn't last a long time, but at least we were sorted for a short while. Carl stood beside his dad and eyed the energy drinks.   
  
I reached over and grabbed a drink, handing it over to the boy. He eyed Rick for consent before slowly taking it from me. The kid had probably never had one in his life.   
  
"Oh, that reminds me," I said suddenly and fished the key chain out of my pocket. I stuck my hand out towards Carl. He carefully took the item and analysed it curiously before looking up at me past the rim of the large hat.   
  
"Thanks," he grinned and looped it through a belt loop on his pants.   
  
"Sure thing, kid," I offered a small smile at him, then at Rick. I faced Glenn and took in his dirty, sweaty face.  
I hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him in for a hug, which he gleefully returned. It wasn't often that runs were as successful as this one where no one got hurt. It was nice when they went well.   
  
I spent the rest of the day in the watchtower with Carol, who unfortunately had to bear my impatience.   
  
"How long until you think they'll be back?" I asked her, pulling on a loose thread of my sweater.   
  
"I'm not sure," she answered simply. "But they'll be back. They always come back."   
  
Sasha, Daryl and Michonne should have returned a few hours ago. Glenn and myself had only been gone for less than 3 hours - we were back before noon. It was now nightfall. When it was dark, everything got harder to see and things got more dangerous.   
My mind raced with all the endless awful scenarios the group could be in now - trapped by walkers, stuck inside some building, or busy being eaten. The stress was eating away at me.   
  
I scratched absentmindedly at the wound on my chest through my sweater. Carol swatted my hand away and frowned at me.   
  
"Don't scratch it, you'll make it scar," she said. I sighed and we both stared out at the black expanse surrounding us for a long while.   
  
"Do you miss it?" Her voice was soft. "Your old life, I mean."   
  
I thought about it for a second before responding.   
"I'm not sure. I miss certain things about my old life...certain people," I paused, "but there's no way I could go back to that old life now. There are too many things I'd miss from now," I surprised myself with the answer.   
  
I missed my dog and my sister. I missed not being terrified every time someone I cared about went outside. But I couldn't go back to it. There were also bad things I faced in my old life that were finally put to an end after the outbreak.   
  
"Do you?" I asked her softly.   
  
"The same as you, I guess. Miss the things, the people, the comfort. But the world has changed me too much for me to go back to how things were," she explained thoughtfully.   
  
I nodded in the darkness and we took in the night.   
  
When it was presumably midnight, footsteps indicated Carol's shift had come to an end.  
Tyreese took her place in the watchtower, and I could see the worry etched into his face too. I placed my hand on his broad shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.   
  
"She'll be okay," I reassured him softly, although I wasn't sure of it myself.   
  
Carol left the platform and I followed behind her, deep in thought.  
Our footsteps were loud in comparison to the late night silence. Worry ate away at my chest and my face was stuck in a concerned expression. When we reached Carol's cell, she turned to me and placed her hand warmly on my arm.   
  
"They'll be back," she paused and smiled, "he'll be back."   
  
I nodded, still unsure, and she turned away from me and into her cell.   
  
That night, sleep came easily, despite my worrying. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
Thank you so much for reading this far, it means so much to me and really motivates me to keep writing.  
So I just wanted to let y'all know that although I've stated that there are 15 chapters to this fic, there will be more! I'm still writing (so hopefully you'll keep reading).
> 
> Thank you <3

The sound of movement outside of my room made me jerk awake. My heart rate quickened with fear, and I grabbed the knife from under my pillow, ready to face the intruder. I jumped out of bed and wiped the sleep from my eyes, the cool morning air making the hairs on my exposed arms stand up.  
I leaned forward and peeled the sheet back. My breath hitched in my throat and it took everything in me not to throw my arms around Daryl. Relief washed over me and I plastered a grin on my face, taking a few steps towards him.   
  
My movement made him look up, his eyes briefly widening in surprise to me standing before him with a knife in my hand. He had just set his crossbow down on the ground and seemed to be getting ready to sleep, but he stood up once he noticed me.   
  
"Ya gonna kill me or what?" Daryl said, and I quickly tucked the knife into the waistband of my black sweatpants.   
  
"Sorry," I apologized weakly, still smiling, "Just glad you're back safe."   
  
His dirty face softened and he took a step closer to me.  
"Yeah?" He placed his hand on the back of his neck, obviously feeling slightly awkward.   
  
I nodded in response and shrugged before asking, "Why'd you take so long?"   
  
"Got separated, then surrounded. Sasha got in trouble. Took a while to help her out then fight our way back ta the truck," he explained quietly. "We're all good," he added, clearly sensing my worry.   
  
As long as everyone was alive then it didn't matter whether the run was a success or not. The success of a run is now determined by the casualties that occur, and no longer by what could be retrieved. Some beans or ammo isn't important when you had to lose a life over it.   
  
I nodded and looked at the man, still immensely attractive regardless of the dirt that covered him.   
  
"You should rest. I'm gonna head out now and get to work," I said. It was still dark out, but the sun would soon rise and there was always work to be done.  
"You can take my bed," I motioned towards my now vacant cell.   
  
Daryl shook his head, denying my offer.  
"Naw, I'm good here," he said.   
  
I shot him a look. Then, reluctantly, he nodded and brushed past me to get to my cell. Once he was laying comfortably in my bed, I grabbed my flannel off the floor and slipped it on over my tank top. His eyes stayed trained on the 'x' in my chest, clearly visible.   
  
With one final glance, I left him to sleep and skipped over to the courtyard. Knowing Daryl was safe made the world of difference to me.   
  
***   
  
It all happened so fast.   
  
One moment I was helping prepare dinner for the masses, then the next the watchtower exploded. Screams filled the air.   
  
There were about 6 vehicles in total, plus a tank. A tank for God's sake. Rick stood facing the Governor and his army of people, a fence being the only barrier between them. The Governor stood on the tank flanked by his armed people, his eye patch contrasting with his pale skin.   
  
Michonne, Daryl and I were a good distance away keeping watch. Each of us were armed, ready to attack if needed. Maggie ensured that the scared people were rushed to the courtyard of the prison, with orders to head for the large bus in the back field if things went wrong.  
The Governor's voice cut through the scared silence that later settled over the prison.   
  
"We need to talk," his voice rang out loud and confident.   
  
"I don't make decisions around here anymore," Rick responded, "we have a council."   
  
"Forget about the council. You're making the decisions today, Rick," he paused and scanned the prison in his sight, "so let's talk."   
  
The sheriff said nothing, and he remained still.   
  
"I see you have my people," The Governor motioned towards the buildings where the group that used to live in Woodbury were now hiding behind. His eyes traced the landscape, then settled on me. Every muscle in my body tensed up, and I could feel Daryl position himself slightly in front of me. Even from as far away as I was I could see a smirk settle on the Governor's face.  
"And I see you have my girl," he added.   
  
"I see you have a tank," Rick retorted.   
  
The Governor looked down at the tank he was standing on as if he'd momentarily forgotten about it's existence.  
"This is just to show you I'm serious. It's not to blow a hole in our new home."   
  
"Your new home?"   
  
"I want the prison. You and your people have till sundown to get out of here... or they will die," the one-eyed man glanced at the sky, the light slowly fading.  
"I estimate you have about one hour to pack your things. Remember, the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be for you to get out," he warned.  
"Oh, I also want Michonne... and the girl."   
  
Rick ran his hand through his hair, visibly torn.  
"There are children here... It doesn't have to be this way," he said, his voice pained at the thought of losing everything they'd worked so hard for.   
  
Rick had told me how they'd desperately searched for a safe place like the prison so that his wife, Lori, could safely give birth. He'd told me about how an inmate had almost torn the place apart by letting walkers get in, killing good people. I know that they had to fight for everything the prison had become.   
  
I glanced at Daryl who was watching the scene ahead like a hawk. He was always ready - no matter what.   
  
The Governor sighed and looked at his armed minions.  
"I could shoot you all-" he begun to speak, but his sentence was cut short.   
  
I bumped Daryl's shoulder as I rushed past him and into the open.   
  
"Stop!" I yelled. A hand grabbed my arm from behind but I pulled away, knowing full well it was Daryl trying to stop me. Nobody could stop me.   
  
Rick turned as I jogged towards the fence, desperation scrawled on my face. With one look from the twisted man, a few of his men entered the gate and grabbed my arms, dragging me outside. The Governor hopped down from the tank and walked towards me. Suddenly I was on the other side of the fence, on my knees with a knife held against my throat.   
  
"You have me, you smug asshole," I spat angrily, "now leave them the hell alone."   
  
"Feisty as ever, I see," the man chuckled as he pressed the blade harder against my throat.  
"Now all I need is the prison and Michonne. Then I don't have to kill this sweet little lady here."   
  
Through the wires in the fence, Rick looked at me as tears filled his eyes.  
My eyes burned into his desperately.   
  
_It's okay. Fight them,_ I mouthed.   
  
Movement in the distance caught my eye as I saw Daryl come closer.  
"Don't you dare touch her!" He yelled. Venom laced each and every word.   
  
The Governor ignored the archer's outburst and returned his attention to Rick, who shook his head.   
  
"We can share. There's plenty of room for all of us," he gestured to the many prison cell blocks.  
"But we're not leaving." His voice broke, almost a whisper.   
  
I looked down and noticed the knife being lowered from my neck, much to my relief. The man sighed and paused for a moment before speaking.   
  
"Fine. Have it your way," he said simply.   
  
Then it seemed as if time itself had slowed. The hand holding the knife moved away from my body to gain momentum, then was thrust towards the mark on my chest. X marks the spot.  
As the knife pierced my chest, a heard a loud yell and a shot rang out. That single gunshot started it all.   
  
Bullets raced through the air as shots were fired. My ears rang and I lay on the ground, feeling the blood seep out of the hole in my chest. There were shouts and gunshots, and the sound of a tank whirring past my ear - the army of Woodbury advanced towards the prison. I saw a few of them drop, and I knew my people were fighting back.   
  
I rolled over on my side with a grunt, clutching my hand against my wound. Had I moved a second later, that blade would have penetrated the center of that 'x' and gone straight into my heart. But I was okay.   
  
The crimson liquid dribbled through my fingers as I stumbled my way to my feet, trying to make my way back up to the prison to fight. My eyes rolled back in my head momentarily before I continued my attempt at a stealthy trek towards the side of the prison.   
  
Another explosion rocked the ground and I let out a small whimper. Our home was crumbling.   
  
I retrieved my knife and clutched it shakily with my left hand, driving it into a walker drawn in by the sound. I couldn't think. All I could hear were explosions and gunfire and screaming. Sadness weighed down my mind. We were all going to die at the hands of a greedy psychopath, and I was going to bleed out next to a chain link fence and be eaten by corpses.   
  
"Micaela!" A female voice yelled my name, and through my tear-blurred vision I saw Carol running towards me. She immediately wrapped an arm around my waist and helped me towards the prison.   
  
"We have to get you somewhere safe," she grunted with effort.  
I shook my head and eyed the gun she was holding.  
"We have to fight." 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite (and saddest) chapter to write.

I grunted as Carol tied the sleeve of my flannel around my chest. The blood flow had decreased a little, but I couldn't afford to lose anymore.  
  
"Ready?" She asked, nodding towards the smoking prison.  
  
"Ready as I'll ever be," I moved away from the tree I was leaning against and we headed through the gaping hole in the fence.  
  
The gunfire seemed perpetual, and I didn't know which side it was coming from. Carol and I split up, and I bee-lined for a stray gun laying in the grass next to the body of someone I thankfully didn't recognize.  
  
Fear of guns be damned. I was going to shoot every last one of these bastards.  
  
Shots flew past my ear and I crouched down, running as fast as I could for the pig pens. Once I was moderately shielded, I aimed at the woman violently shooting at me and fired back. The bullets flew, one hitting her square in the head. My body was shaking.  
  
To my relief, I spotted Daryl firing arrow after arrow at walkers coming towards him. Walkers had infiltrated our home - now we had two problems to take care of. I willed my legs to keep moving towards him while I fired at the people who were destroying our home.  
  
Then my heart shattered. It was as if my heart were a grenade that had its pin pulled out, the explosion burning my insides in flaming despair.  
  
I saw him take cover behind a wooden crate before the explosion hit.  
The crate was blown to bits, shards of it flying through the air before landing to the ground in glowing orange shrapnel.  
  
I froze dead in my tracks, staring at the spot where Daryl had been, now a flurry of violent flames.  
I could feel myself screaming, screaming his name.  
Screaming for the man who took care of me.  
Screaming for the man I cared about.  
Screaming for my dead friend.  
  
Pain ripped through my chest; a pain that was worse than any knife that ever entered my skin. My face was wet and my throat was burning.  
  
He was gone.  
  
I would no longer see him glance at me through his dark hair. I'd no longer watch him as he sat under the night sky and sharpened his knife. I'd never again hear his simultaneously soft and rough voice speak words of consolation and comfort. I would never feel his arms around me again.  
  
Then it was as if a switch had flipped.  
  
My pain transformed into anger as quickly and as furiously as that explosion had hit. My instincts lead me through the obstacle course of fire, bodies and gunshots until I turned a corner and found him.  
The Governor was on top of Rick, landing punches to his bloody face. The colors of the world drained away, only leaving behind angry red with which my eyes were filled. Two men fired at me, but I shot back with determination, each of them becoming another one of my victims.  
  
I had my target in sight. Storming over to the man that was about to kill yet another friend, I shoved the butt of my gun into his head. He fell to the ground with a grunt, leaving a beaten Rick gasping for air.  
  
"You son of a bitch! You killed him! Your people killed him," I sobbed angrily, pointing my gun at his head. His face was no longer smug, but scowling. Blood dribbled from a cut in his lip and I stared at him angrily. He needed to bleed. He needed to feel the pain.  
  
I moved my gun to his leg and pulled the trigger. The gunshot fell in with the others that filled the air, but his scream was the only thing that was different. Rick weakly stood up beside me and placed his hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Who?" He croaked out. I'd never seen anyone look so beat up before.  
  
"Daryl," I almost choked on tears again. His face fell and I small sob escaped his lungs. I turned my attention back to the Governor who was clutching his leg, his face scrunched up with pain.  
  
"You're not going to do it," he snarled, "you're too weak."  
  
I jumped on top of him and pressed my fingers into his wound, making him scream - a satisfying sound. My fists collided with his face repeatedly, only pausing when I heard a sickening crunch after punching his nose.  
  
My fingers angrily ripped off the eye patch which became part of his identity. Beneath the patch was a raw shade of red, as was the grotesque scar that ran through the middle of what once was his eye. I needed to see his eyes before I watched the life leave them.  
  
I felt around my waist until my fingers found the blade tucked into my pants. I pulled it out and held it to the Governor's face, slicing an 'x' into his already bloody forehead. Getting up off the man, I passed the blade to Rick.  
  
"X marks the spot," I whispered to him. And with that, the knife was driven into his head. I watched as the Governor stilled, his good eye growing dull.  
  
After a moment Rick stood up and wrenched the blade out of the Governor's cranium, handing it to me.  
  
"My kids," he said hoarsely and I picked up the gun I'd found earlier.  
  
Walkers were slowly entering the prison, held off by the firepower that dominated the prison grounds. Rick and I scoured the maze of buildings, the sheriff stabbing walkers while I shot humans.  
  
Remorse was non-existent in my current state of mind. Shoot first, don't bother asking questions. A part of me was searching for my dead friend, half willing to find his burnt corpse. But instead I found the body of Hershel.  
His throat was slit.  
  
I turned to Rick who covered his hand over his mouth in anguish.  
I had no more tears left to cry, so all I could do was stop him from becoming a monster that would be responsible for the death of others. I shut my eyes and pulled the trigger.  
  
A cry echoed out and my head snapped up to find Maggie on her knees.  
  
"Go find Carl and Judith," I yelled at Rick as I ran towards Hershel's grieving daughter.  
  
I fell beside her and wrapped my arms around her frail frame as she cried into my chest. I whispered words of comfort in her ear, knowing full well that they were meaningless.  
  
Nothing felt okay when you lost someone you loved.  
  
"Maggie we gotta go," my voice was soft as I lifted my gun and shot two approaching men and a walker. She nodded weakly and we stood up.  
  
"Where's Glenn? Beth?"  
  
"Bus... Beth had Judith. I came to find him," her eyes stared at her father's corpse and I moved in front of her to block her view.  
Flames burned nearby, sending black smoke into the air.  
  
"Go the bus, Maggie. They'll leave soon. Go to the bus, make sure everyone is okay and get out of here," I ordered her. She shot me a puzzled look and I shook my head.  
  
"I'm staying." I fired another shot at an incoming walker.  
  
"You can't stay, you'll d-"  
  
"I have to find his body Maggie!" My voice broke at the reminder. I didn't care if they left me behind. I didn't care if I died.  
"I have to find Daryl's body," I added. Her hand flew up to her mouth and she stifled a cry at the news.  
  
"Just go. Be safe. Keep them safe," I whispered and pushed her towards the direction of the bus. I didn't wait for a response.  
  
My gun was lifted in the air defensively as I killed men and women. It didn't matter.  
  
Soon, bodies decorated the blood-filled cement of the prison courtyard. I stormed through the cell blocks to the other section of the prison to get to where I saw the crate explode earlier. To where he died.  
  
The tank that had blown holes in our home and torn down our fence stood in the center of the other courtyard, flames hungrily engulfing it. A loud shot fired towards me and I faced the gun from which it came. The man pulled the trigger repeatedly which only resulted in weak clicking sounds - he was out of ammo. Upon this realization his eyes filled with panic and he stared at me.  
  
"Don't kill me, please," his hands were raised helplessly in the air, "please don't shoot me," he begged.  
  
"Like you didn't just try to shoot me?" My voice was bitter and my eyes shot daggers into his.  
  
His caramel face was covered in soot from what I assume was caused by whatever had caused the tank to catch alight. He didn't look older than 25 - he seemed young and naive, easily manipulated into doing evil by the charming Governor.  
  
Snarls abruptly sounded around me and I saw the undead headed this way. The man snapped his head towards the walkers, then back at me.  
  
Then I fired. His body fell quickly and loudly, which seemed to make the corpses more determined to reach us.  
  
My ammo was almost finished, but I emptied out the last few rounds into rotting heads.  
  
Once I tossed my weapon to the ground I noticed that all the other gunfire had ceased. Come to think of it, it had stopped a while ago. So either the army had fallen back, or been killed.  
  
The distinct sound of the school bus engine leaving the prison grounds brought a sense of relief over me.  
  
I just hoped Rick had found Carl and made it back to the bus in time, along with everyone else. I had seen a few bodies that I recognized to be people that lived in the prison, none of which I really knew. The only ones I knew that died were Hershel and Daryl.  
Two deaths were enough, and I prayed to whatever god that might've been listening that the others were safe.  
  
The first few walkers approached and I took them down easily enough. Then more came.  
Their eyes were dull and lifeless. Some were rotting as if they'd been dead since the beginning of time while others looked newly dead, their skin dull but somewhat smooth.  
  
Jaws snapped and groans ripped through the air. As soon as one of them got near enough for their decomposing fingers to claw at me, I stabbed them. An opening in the small herd gave me an opportunity to run for it, and I took it.  
  
I ran through the bodies and around them, stopping suddenly by the smoldering crate.  
And right there was a burnt and growling corpse. Some longer strands of hair that hadn't somehow been burnt stuck to the coal-like skin. It's blackened limbs reached towards me, it's body burnt beyond recognition. But I knew.  
  
I stifled another sob as I stared at the body.  
  
"I'm sorry," I whispered as tears choked up my voice. With a final stab to the skull, it stilled. _He_ stilled.  
  
The cement hit my knees and I stared at the ground, blurred by my tears. Was it worth fighting anymore? There was nothing left. Everyone had either left or died, and I had gotten the consolation of ending Daryl's life - or lack thereof. I didn't know if I had the strength to carry on.  
  
But I know he'd want me to fight. He always wanted me to fight.  
  
A hand snagged the back of my shirt and I spun around to face the walker, knife gripped tightly in my hand. I was ready to fight.  
  
But blue eyes stared back at me, partially covered by dark hair. His face was covered in soot and dried blood caked the side of his face.  
  
I didn't understand.  
I didn't know.  
I thought...  
  
He helped lift me to my feet and we ran together through the walkers and into the forest.  
My mind was numb and it felt as if I was a puppet, only this time my puppet master had returned and was leading me to safety.  
We ran until the smoke of the burning prison was no long detectable. We ran until our lungs burned for air. We ran our muscles screamed for rest.  
  
And when we stopped, I broke.  
I threw myself into Daryl's arms and cried, sobbing until my lungs struggled to get air. I blubbered into his chest for what seemed like hours while he just held me, trying his best to comfort me.  
  
I pulled away from him and stared at him with red and swollen eyes.  
  
"Ya look like shit," he said after a moment. Despite everything, I chuckled and wiped my burning eyes.  
  
"Daryl" I finally spoke, "I thought you...I thought you di-" My voice broke leaving me unable to finish the sentence, and tears begun to fall once again.  
  
He remained silent. I couldn't tell if he was waiting for me to finish or if he was just uncomfortable. I took a deep breath and glanced at the trees around us.  
  
Deep breaths.  
  
"I watched you take cover by a crate, and then it exploded. I thought you died. You should've died..."  
  
His head twitched, an attempt at shaking his head.  
"Naw," he said softly, "I went behind it and threw a grenade, then got the hell out 'fore it blew up," he explained.  
  
Neither of us said a word for a good while.  
  
Daryl was alive.  
  
After a moment of hesitation, I slowly walked up to him once again and he watched me. My eyes met his soft ones.  
"Can I please hug you again?" I asked him quietly. He motioned his head slightly in a nod and I wrapped my arms around him. It took him a second before he folded his arms around me in response.  
  
"I thought I lost ya too," his rough voice was soft, and I could swear he held me tighter. 


	14. Chapter 14

My fingers traced a smiley face into the thick dirt layering the floor as I ate my peas. Daryl eyed the tin distastefully as I passed it to him.  
  
"Come on," I urged him, "you gotta eat."  
  
"Hate peas," Daryl growled as he snatched the tin from my hand with his good arm and shoved the little green spheres into his mouth. His face scrunched up as he chewed and I laughed.  
  
"You can kill zombies, eat worms and skin animals," I tried to suppress my laughter, "but you can barely stomach some peas?"  
  
Daryl scowled at me as he swallowed, passing the vegetables to me once again.  
"Shut up," he growled and I took the tin from him, happily eating.  
  
We were out in the woods for a few days before we came across a lonesome cabin a few hours ago. It seemed like pure luck that we'd managed to find it seeing as we were so far out from civilization. The cabin was dusty as hell, but it had a few tins of food and three bottles of water - plus a bed and a shower powered by a gas geyser that still worked.  
  
Once the food was finished, I motioned to the bathroom.  
  
"You should take a shower," I suggested at the greasy man. I myself was in desperate need of some cleanliness, but I'd at least washed myself in a river the previous day. Daryl, on the other hand, had not. His dirty hair clung to his face.  
  
He grunted in response and gestured to his injured arm. Walkers had attacked us while we were hunting; while fighting them, Daryl had fallen down a slope and dislocated his shoulder in the process. Using the knowledge I acquired during a first-aid course in high school I managed to pop his arm back into place, but he could barely lift it and was still in pain. Still, it was no excuse.  
  
"I'll help you," I got up, abandoning my peas and retrieved a metal bucket from the tiny cabin kitchen. I placed it in the shower and called Daryl to the bathroom. He shot me an incredulous look and I giggled.  
  
"Relax. You can shower on your own, I'll just help you wash your hair," I explained and he shifted uncomfortably. Daryl moved to sit in front of the bucket and I tugged at his shirt. He pulled it off slowly and I stared at the scars on his skin in shock. Dark lines crossed his back, meeting tattoos that inked his skin. I didn't know he had tattoos.  
  
Hiding my curiosity, I immediately got to work.  
I splashed the warm water on his dark hair and poured shampoo on his head. My fingers carefully ran through his hair and massaged his scalp while lathering the shampoo. It felt like an intimate moment, and yet all I was doing was helping Daryl wash his hair.  
  
I cleared my throat and rinsed the shampoo, my eyes still trained on his scars. He had scars like me. I wondered if he'd got them the same why I did, but I think I knew the answer already.  
  
Once I was finished I poured the bucket of water down the drain and left him to shower. I flopped onto the double bed and listened to the water running in the bathroom.  
  
Though I considered Daryl my best friend, I didn't know much about him. But those scars looked as if they were inflicted by someone else, and I feared we had something in common.  
  
My thoughts were interrupted as the bathroom door opened and Daryl emerged shirtless. On the left side of his chest was yet another tattoo - curvy writing scrawled across his skin. I shifted my gaze awkwardly and sat up.  
  
"Your turn," he said. I nodded weakly and headed towards the warm shower. I removed my shirt but kept my jeans on. The hot water hit against my back and stung the wound in my chest. My wrists were almost healed, so they didn't hurt as much. I closed my eyes and let the water pour over my face as if it were washing away all the negativity.  
  
The hot water pouring down the drain seemed almost therapeutic, but my mind still seemed to wander into the dark depths I tried to avoid.  
  
I'd watched the world come undone at its seams, falling apart in just a matter of a few days. For so many years I thought I'd be the one to fall, that I'd be the one to come apart at the seams - but it wasn't meant to be that way. The world fell, and some of us were still alive to see it. All of us were trying so hard to survive the darkness, but for what?  
  
A knock on the door broke me out of my trance.  
  
"Ya okay in there?" Daryl's muffled voice traveled through the wooden door.  
  
"Yeah," I reassured him and decided it was time to finish. I stepped out of the shower and dried as much of myself as I could with a towel before exiting the bathroom. My mind wasn't where it should be, and Daryl seemed to notice that.  
  
"Your pants are soaking wet," he pointed out once I stepped out of the steaming bathroom. I nodded. I should probably take them off.  
  
"Can I lay them out to dry?" I asked softly, and he nodded in response. Daryl turned away and I peeled them off, laying them on the small kitchen table. He turned to face me standing in only my tank top and underwear. His eyes landed on my scarred thighs, and his face fell.  
  
For a reason unknown to me, I was trembling. I shuffled my way to the bed and placed myself on the quilted covers, staring at my skin.  
  
This was one of the parts I hated. One minute I would be fine, and the next I'd be stuck in my own my own mind unable to escape my dark thoughts.  
  
Daryl tentatively sat next to be on the bed, staring at my scars.  
  
"Ya okay?" He asked quietly, obviously uncomfortable. I nodded and shifted to lay my head down on the firm pillow.  
"I didn't know..." He trailed off and went quiet.  
  
I nodded again. How was he supposed to know?  
  
"I'm fine, don't worry," I assured him and stared at a loose thread on the quilt.  
  
I listened carefully to the noises outside the cabin, enjoying the lack of hungry walkers.  
  
"Why didn't ya ask?" His question confused me and I raised my eyebrows.  
"'Bout my scars," he added.  
  
"I figured you'd tell me when you felt like you wanted to," Lifting myself into a sitting position, I pulled a pillow onto my lap and hugged it to my chest. Daryl was sitting on the bed so that his one leg was folded in front of him and the other was dangling of the bed. The feint glow of the gas lamp on the bedside table cast a golden glow across his toned chest, and I met his eyes.  
  
"My old man," those three words sounded as if they'd been spoken by a broken boy. A lump formed in my throat and I looked at him, but he snatched his eyes away.  
"Don't look at me like that," his voice seemed as if it were meant to be harsh, but instead was accusatory.  
  
I understood what he meant; not wanting to be looked at like a kicked puppy. I got that.  
  
"I understand too," I whispered and I turned my back to Daryl. Pulling up the ends of my shirt I lifted the material to reveal my own scarred back and ribs.  
Lines from the buckle-end of a belt slicing into my skin and cigarette burn marks decorated the back and sides of my torso.  
Fingers touched my spine and I let my shirt drop, sitting normally again.  
  
The bed shifted as Daryl moved to the other half of the bed, sitting next to me. He slowly moved his hand to my bare thigh and touched a single finger to an outlying purple scar.  
  
"Things were bad for ya," Daryl said solemnly and I shook my head, my long hair falling loose from behind my ear.  
  
"Things are bad for everyone, just in different ways," I hesitated, "everyone has their own darkness. It's just up to us to search for a light," I added thoughtfully.  
  
"Is that what you're doin'? When ya hurt yourself like that?" His voice was almost patronizing, which hurt.  
  
"No. I hurt myself when my father hurt me, because at least I could control that pain. And I hurt myself when I let the darkness consume me and I felt like giving in to it," I explained and averted his gaze. I focused on the glow of the lamp, watching the small contained flame dance.  
  
"Ya can't let that happen no more. Ya gotta keep searching," his low voice made my insides flip over, and I ignored it. I always got nervous being alone with someone having intimate conversations.  
  
"We all do," I aimed at him.  
  
Daryl moved his body and laid down on the soft bed, staring at the ceiling. His crossbow was set on the other bedside table, and his shirt and vest were laid down on the kitchen table next to my dripping jeans. The cabin was single room with an attached bathroom, the only other room. It was small and cozy, something that would have been a good getaway place before the world went to shit and vacations ceased to matter.  
  
"Is he dead?" Daryl asked, and I nodded.  
  
My father was the only person I had killed when I was asked those 3 questions my first day at the prison.  
Gun to the head.  
The same gun he would flippantly point at my sister and I when his blood consisted mainly of whiskey, and all evidence of sobriety had dissipated.  
  
"How about yours?" My voice was careful. It was never good to push Daryl for information.  
He nodded and remained staring at the ceiling.  
  
The cross on my chest itched and I scratched at it absentmindedly.  
  
"Is the Governor dead?" His question cut through the silence. I thought back to a few days ago when I watched Rick stab my knife through his skull.  
  
"Yeah," I responded bleakly. He was dead and that was good, but his death doesn't change the fact that we lost our safe haven.  
People died. Hershel died.  
  
"Did you see Rick and Carl?"  
  
Daryl shook his head somberly.  
"Saw a lot of people were on the bus though. They left safe. Carol, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Beth... little ass-kicker," he said reassuringly, "bunch of other people too."  
  
As long as they were safe that was good. Rick was strong and so was Carl - they'll be okay.  
They'll be okay.  
  
"Why didn't you leave with the bus? Get yourself the hell out?" It was a valid question. If he'd seen all those people on the bus then that meant he could've stayed safe and booked it out of the battlefield.  
  
It took him a minute before he answered me.  
  
"Couldn't leave without ya."  
  
My heart fluttered and a small smile crept onto my face. It was nice to know that the care was mutual.  
I turned the squeaky knob on the gas lamp until the flame went out, then comfortably placed my head on the pillow.  
  
"Night, Micaela," Daryl whispered from beside me.  
  
"Goodnight, Dixon." 


	15. Chapter 15

"Let's go," Daryl said as he slung his crossbow across his shoulder. I followed him outside the musty cabin and into the heat of the outdoors. The sun beat against our exposed shoulders, soon covered by the dotting shade of trees.   
  
My eyes stared at the wings of his vest for a long time before a hungry growl indicated the presence of a walker. Daryl lifted his crossbow and shot an arrow straight into its skull. Even with his injured arm he was still a perfect shot. I walked over to the decaying corpse and retrieved the arrow, passing it to Daryl who took it without a word.   
  
"We should be gettin' to some houses up ahead. Find some supplies," he said after a while.   
  
And he was right.   
  
A neighborhood soon came into view, each house looking unkempt and as rundown as every other building we ever came across. Two lonely walkers roamed the streets, suddenly finding direction when they smelled us. The sound of arrows whistling through the air was followed by two bodies dropping to unswept streets, and they were down.  
After retrieving the arrows, Daryl gestured to the first house on the left and I shook my head.   
  
"We split up," I ordered and begun trudging down the street. His hand gripped my arm.   
  
"Naw, ya ain't goin' alone," Daryl released me and I held up my knife.   
  
"Knife. I'll be fine. We'll meet back here in thirty minutes."   
  
He hesitated before nodding reluctantly. I saluted him which caused him to scoff, his mouth tugging up slightly at the corner. That was almost a smile.   
  
I could feel his eyes trained on my back as I walked away from him and turned the lonely street corner. Starting at the furthest house then making my way back down seemed like the smartest option. The first house I entered was a simple fair-sized one, with a dark roof covered in fallen leaves. The door was ajar so I entered cautiously, keeping my eye out for any unwanted company.  
While scouring the house I came across a walker with a gaping hole in its head, blocking the hallway - if the walker was dead then that meant someone had been here. Great.  
I rushed to the ransacked kitchen and groaned loudly. All the cabinet doors were open, revealing barren shelves and a small rat. I sighed and left the building, hoping that I'd have some luck with the next house.   
  
The porch creaked beneath my weight and I opened the next house's wooden door quietly. I could hear a faint thudding coming from upstairs, but that was all. Carefully I stepped into the living room and snagged up a stray backpack leaning against the wall. Emptying its contents onto the carpeted floor revealed a notebook, a pen, and a novel - Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. I chuckled darkly at the title. They sure do.   
  
I slung the backpack onto my shoulder and headed to the kitchen, which to my relief held some stale cereal, cans of soup and a tin of peas. Daryl was going to be delighted.   
  
I chuckled as I placed the items into the bag, eyeing some nasty bread. Mold thrived on each slice, the fluff ranging from white to a dark green. Disgusting.   
My fingers pressed on the crispy petals of a dead flower bouquet on the table, causing the crisped bits to crumble to the counter. The light floral smell still persisted.   
  
Snapping out of my daze, I silently walked up the stairs of the house. The thudding I heard earlier grew louder and I saw the room from which it was coming - a white door with the letters 'Thomas' written on it. Poor kid.   
  
I wondered if he ever got to finish reading the book.   
  
Ignoring it, I headed into what I assumed to be the master bedroom. Thick white comforters covered the king size bed, and photos lined the wall of three people - most likely Thomas and his parents. I wondered what became of them considering the kid was the only one home.   
  
My fingers traced the clean comforter before heading over to the bedroom draws. Clean clothes were folded neatly in the dresser, and I snagged a few items before shoving them in my backpack. While examining what looked like an ugly yellow sweater, my fingers grazed something nestled between the layers and I lifted it carefully - a gun, with a small box of ammo. I grinned and pocketed my knife, grabbing the gun.   
  
It was a small black pistol, one of those tiny ones that you saw woman carrying around in their purses in the movies - I guess it wasn't only in movies. I weighed it in my hands and adjusted my grip, examining how it felt -   
  
_Click._   
  
My blood turned cold at the unmistakable sound of the safety being taken off, and something cold pressed against my skull.   
  
"Put the gun down and turn around slowly," a man demanded in a raspy voice. He was definitely a smoker. Obeying his orders, I carefully placed the gun down back onto the clothing and turned to face the balding man. His face was fat and bearded, and nose hairs curiously peeked out of his nostrils. The amount of hair on his face made up for what he was lacking on his scalp.   
  
"You don't have to do this," I said calmly and as persuasively as possible. The man didn't look intelligent but I knew full well to never underestimate someone with a gun pointed at my face.   
  
"Shut up," he barked and shoved me out of the room towards the stairs. I could feel the knife in my belt that was thankfully hidden by my tank top, but now wasn't the time. I carefully made my way downstairs with my hands raised in the air. When I got to the bottom, I saw Daryl on his knees with his own crossbow pointed at his head.  
How had they found both of us?  
The one behind me ripped off my backpack and tossed it against the wall before forcing me to my knees in front of my friend. The man holding Daryl's crossbow was as gross-looking as the one that had the gun to my head. Standing beside him was a middle-aged woman. Her greasy gray hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and it looked as if her scalp was playing tug-of-war, desperately trying to stay attached to the taught strands of hair.  
She smiled a toothless grin at me.   
  
"Well boys, it looks like you're in luck. We've got a pretty one, ay," she cackled and hacked, spitting a glob of phlegm onto the carpet. Despite the number of decaying corpses I'd seen, this woman and her men were by far the most disgusting creatures I'd had the displeasure of laying eyes on.  
It looked as if they hadn't been washed in months, and I swore I could smell them from miles out.   
  
The trio spent a good few minutes talking and plotting, discussing which of us to kill first and what they were going to do with me before they put a bullet in my head.   
  
"I could ride this pretty lil' lady all day and night," the one holding the crossbow said almost cheerily as he licked his cracked lips. I almost gagged.   
  
"You even _think_ of touchin' her," Daryl growled and glared at the ground. He sounded menacing, but didn't seem threatening due to the fact that he was the one on his knees with a weapon pointing at his head.   
The one behind chortled and snorted.   
  
"Aww ya think ya can stop us?" He mocked Daryl, earning him a contemptuous glare. The man then moved the gun from my head and pointed it at Daryl, making my heart skip a beat. I thought of the knife still tucked safely in my belt.   
  
"Jerry, shut the hell up," the woman demanded, reprimanding the man as if he was a young boy, not a grown-ass man.   
  
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry ma'am," Jerry apologized and I felt the barrel press against my skull again.   
  
"Ya know," the woman continued, "I think we should kill him first. He looks tasty," her eyes hungrily took in Daryl's form and I suddenly wasn't sure if that hunger was sexual or literal. She slowly stepped towards him and knelt down, tracing a bony finger down his face. My blood boiled and I wanted nothing more than to snap her stick-like finger right off her hand. Daryl's head snapped away from her touch. Then it was as if a light bulb had been lit in my brain.  
I stared at him, willing him to just look at me.   
  
When he finally did, I shot him a look that he hopefully understood as _'I have a plan'_, and not _'I'm scared as shit that these people are going to kill us and I have no idea what the hell to do'_. My eyes darted to the backpack against the wall and then back at him.  
Daryl offered the slightest nod, and I took that as a sign that he understood.   
  
My breaths quickened and became shorter bursts, my lungs uttering a wheezing noise. My lips parted as I tried frantically to fill my lungs with air but failed, rendering me breathless and gasping desperately for air, my hands clutching at my throat.   
  
"Ma'am," Jerry called for the woman, looking like a kid with stage fright. She snapped her attention to me and furrowed her greasy eyebrows.   
  
"What's goin' on with her?" She bent down, and her foul breath blew onto my face as I inhaled desperately.   
  
"She's havin' an asthma attack, idiots," Daryl growled at our captors. They looked around at each other, deeply confused. Daryl gestured to the backpack.  
"Her inhaler is in there. That's why we came here, ta look for more," he explained impatiently.   
  
All three of them turned their attention to the bag, and our opportunity opened up. I ripped out my knife and stabbed it into my captor's knee, making him wail. In a split second I grabbed the gun from him and emptied a round into his head, then another into the chest of the one holding Daryl's crossbow.  
The woman screamed and attempted to run, but an arrow in her head made her drop before she could even leave the living room.   
  
Daryl breathed heavily and his hair fell messily into his face. I threw my head back and laughed loudly, relieved and almost hysterical. He shook his head at me and scoffed - almost a laugh.   
  
"Can't believe that worked," he stepped over a body and tossed the backpack at me, which hit me square in the chest.   
  
"Can't believe they were such dumbasses," I giggled and slung the backpack over my shoulder, holstering the gun. I ran upstairs to bag the gun and ammo I had found in the drawer before meeting Daryl downstairs again.   
  
"Let's get outta here before more hillbillies show up," I brushed past him and exited the house.   
  
"We can hole up in one of the houses further down for the night, we'll be fine," he said from behind me and I agreed. I happily sauntered over to a house with a similar layout to the one we were previously in, glad to find it free of the dead and living. This neighborhood was unusually clear, which makes me think it was probably one of the few to be successfully evacuated - except for Thomas.   
  
The house was dusty but tidy, and I immediately got to work on opening a tin of chocolate pudding I found on top of one of the kitchen cabinets. Daryl was silent.   
  
I moaned as chocolate filled my mouth and passed the tin and spoon to Daryl. He shook his head and stormed upstairs. Mildly confused, I abandoned the pudding and followed him to a room upstairs. He was sitting on the windowsill of the master bedroom staring at the empty street below.   
  
"You okay?" I asked as I leaned against the door frame. He didn't respond.   
  
"Daryl," I called out, and finally looked at me.   
  
"I don't know what the hell ya problem is, Micaela," the archer said aggressively and stormed towards the opposite side of the room.   
  
"What did I do?" I asked quietly, hurt by his sudden outburst. I stared at the wall, this one covered in paintings rather than photographs, unlike the other house.   
  
"We just almost died and here ya are actin' like nothin' happened!" Daryl raised his arms angrily, muscles moving beneath his skin.   
  
"What am I supposed to do, Daryl? Mope around? Be sad and complain about how we almost just died as if there's a damn thing we could do about it?" I scowled and crossed my arms.   
  
"Don't patronize me," his eyes shot daggers into my own. He stormed past me and into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard I though it was going to shatter.   
  
"Real mature," I muttered under my breath and moved towards the dark closet in the room. The smooth wooden door opened without a sound, revealing a mound of clothes. The drawers attached to the closet luckily contained clothing which seemed as if it would fit me, and so I changed into black sweatpants and a black long sleeve, even though it was boiling hot.   
  
I headed downstairs to lock the front door and place a chair under the handle - just for safety. The both of us were real lucky to once again find another safe place to stay, seeing as most others were overrun and dangerous. The walls and roof were something to be grateful for, but I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt in my chest at the thought of the others from the prison roughing it outside, maybe still fighting for their lives.   
  
Brushing the thought away. I made my way back upstairs to find Daryl sitting on the bed. I paused for a moment before heading to the closet and pulling out some clothes, tossing them at Daryl. He shook his head.   
  
"Seriously, change. You smell like ass," I picked up my own dirty clothes off the floor and took them to the bathroom, dumping them in the bathtub which I began to fill with water - cold, unfortunately.  
To my surprise, when I re-entered the bedroom Daryl had changed from his usual attire into a dark gray t-shirt and black jeans. He handed me his dirty clothes and I tossed them in the bathtub with mine.   
  
"I'll wash them later," I avoided his gaze and climbed out of the small bedroom window, making my way onto the roof. The roof tiles were slippery, but I safely made my way to the top and stared at the scenery. Trees made up most of the landscape past the rooftops. The small breeze did little to cool the heat of the day, and soon I started sweating, rolling up my long sleeves.   
  
About 30 minutes later, Daryl clambered onto the roof next to me and I hurriedly pulled my sleeves back down.   
  
"Ya don't have ta hide them from me," his husky voice seemed earnest. I didn't know what to say.   
  
"Why'd you snap at me?" I asked curtly, still not looking at him.   
  
"Ya almost died again. Actin' like that didn't matter just pissed me off."   
  
My eyes stayed trained on the lightly swaying trees, feeling the sun heat my hair. "But it doesn't matter."   
  
"The hell is that supposed ta mean?" Daryl almost yelled again, and I flinched.   
  
"I'm saying it doesn't matter. It's not like I'm trying to get myself killed, but if it does happen - which it will - life will go on, and the world will go on." I slid down a portion of the roof and climbed my way down the rest, swinging myself into the bedroom.   
  
I busied myself with washing our clothes and hanging them up in the bathroom. It was a while before I heard the archer make his way off the rooftop - for someone who was almost always stealthy and quiet on his feet, Daryl could not climb off and onto roofs without making himself obvious.   
  
By the time I'd finished the washing, the sun had gone down and I let out a sigh, trudging towards the bedroom.Daryl was laying on the on top of the covers, one arms tucked behind his head. My stomach flipped at the sight of him, but I ignored it. I was angry at him.   
  
My back leaned against the wall and I stared at the carpeted floor. Though it was dark, the moon offered enough light for me to easily make out my surroundings. I heard the bedding shift followed by footsteps thumping softly on the floor. My eyes followed the boots that were making their way across the floor until they stopped in front of me.   
  
"I ain't gonna let ya die," Daryl said and I looked at him.   
  
"It's not really up to you, is it?" I asked rhetorically, slightly frustrated.   
  
"Ya can't die," he responded, his voice low and soft. I stared back down at his boots and watched as they came closer. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up and saw Daryl an inch away from me.   
  
His hand slowly lifted up to touch my neck, and it felt as if all my insides suddenly shrunk. My breaths were shallow as nerves wracked my body, unsure of what was happening.   
  
Then his warm lips pressed against mine and it felt as if the world itself had stopped.  
The dead no longer mattered.  
The prison no longer mattered.  
Nothing at all mattered except for that very moment.  
Daryl Dixon was kissing me, and I was kissing him.   
  
My arms carefully snaked around his torso as he deepened the kiss, and I tasted every second of it. His warm breath tickled my skin and I shivered, holding him close. When we slowly broke away from each other, my lips tingled with the absence of his, and my breaths were unsteady.  
Daryl's lips were parted and his eyes remained closed. He leaned forward until our foreheads were touching, and I finally spoke.   
  
I thought back to the conversation we had in the cabin about the darkness, and how everyone was searching for light. My eyes fluttered closed and placed my hands on his chest, which was moving with every fast-paced breath he took.   
  
"You're my light, Daryl Dixon," I whispered in the moonlit night.   
  
"Ya've always been mine," Daryl breathed and gently pressed his lips against my forehead. 


	16. Chapter 16

I squinted at the large map spread out on the mahogany desk, carefully analyzing the flurry of lines covering the paper. Roads; railway tracks; a country club; a prison. Daryl's finger traced a set of lines and he sighed.   
  
"We could double back to the prison and follow the route the probably took," he suggested before folding up the map and shoving it into the backpack. My throat seemed to close up at the idea of heading back to that place, terrified of what we might find.   
  
"That'll take days." I stared at the bookshelves lining the walls of the small office, where we had found the map. My eyes were still heavy with sleep and I stifled a yawn.  
The few hours the both of us had the night before to sleep had been useless to me, as all I'd done was stare into the darkness and replay the feeling of Daryl's lips on mine. I'd been acutely aware of the large amount of space between us on the bed, but that space didn't feel cold - it felt alive, like there was an electric current pulsating between us with every breath each of us took. My mind buzzed and my heart raced at the prospect of being something more with Daryl. Because I knew that he was all I cared about. And apparently he cared about me too.   
  
That morning we got up without a word and changed back into the damp clothes I'd washed the night before, last night's events laying heavily on my mind - and presumably Daryl's too.  
Though neither of us mentioned it.   
  
"We have ta find em," he urged, bringing me back to reality.   
  
"I know, I know. I'm just...scared of what we'll find."   
  
Daryl shifted and glanced up at me. He folded up the map and shoved it in the backpack containing our supplies. Nodding slightly, he offered me a hand up off the floor.   
  
***   
  
"Not even a single car," I muttered frustratingly under my breath.  
The neighborhood had definitely been evacuated - though I failed to notice it the day before, there were no cars parked in the driveways or the garages.   
  
Daryl grunted and I fell instep next to him, taking one last glance at the nice houses before bidding them farewell. It didn't matter how comfortable or how safe they were; neither of us could comfortably live in a house without finding our friends, or at least finding out what became of them.   
  
The woods were clear for the most part - nothing we couldn't handle with a bit of team effort. It wasn't long before the sounds of the forest and our footsteps became a symphony of rustling, and my alertness got carried away in the wind which was slowly picking up around us. Strands of hair lightly blew into my face, cutting my vision into strips.  
The cool wind was a change from the heat that usually threatened to burn us and I was grateful.   
  
"Heads up."   
  
The words pulled me back into reality and I spotted the incoming walkers. Opting for my knife instead of a loud pistol, I fought alongside Daryl who was effortlessly firing and retrieving arrows. My blade pierced the skulls of many corpses before I stopped and stared; limp gray hair hung in front of its rotting face, which was partially covered in a thick gray beard that may have resembled Santa's back when it was alive. Though the creature was now deteriorating and hungry for flesh, the resemblance was still obvious.   
  
My mind raced back to Hershel laying in the courtyard of the prison with his throat slit. I remembered the jolt as the bullet left my gun and entered his head. I remembered the screams of his daughter as she saw his lifeless body on the ground. I remember looking into his warm eyes as he offered words of comfort - eyes that became empty. I remember-   
  
A cold fleshy hand grabbed my neck and old nails threatened to tear into my skin; suddenly I was aware of the walker trying to rip the flesh off my bones. My fingers wrapped around its bony wrist and I yanked it away from me. The lower half of the walker's arm detached from its elbow with a sickening squelch and a steady splatter of putrid blood, and I tossed it aside before ramming my knife through the gray hair and into its head. Its body stilled.   
  
The lack of growling indicated that I'd just killed the last walker. I looked up in relief and noticed the bodies littering the ground.   
  
"Let's keep going," I muttered and started stepping over the corpses. Notcing the lack of a second set of footsteps, I looked around to see where the archer was at. But he wasn't there.   
  
"Daryl?" My voice warbled slightly in fear as I called out for him. Breathing suddenly became difficult as hurriedly scanned the area in search of the missing man.   
  
I called out again but louder as I raced forward, scanning behind trees and shrubs. Daryl was nowhere to be found. My head pounded and I started to sweat despite the cool weather. Maybe he fell down a ditch somewhere, or maybe he decided that he'd be better off alone and he left me behind.  
No, he wouldn't do that. I don't believe he'd do that.  
I could hear my pulse fast and loud in my ears as fear constricted my chest.   
  
"Daryl?" I yelled out desperately. My eyes were wide and a cold sweat covered my body. How could he just be gone? How could someone -   
  
"Relax, I was just takin' a piss," Daryl grumbled as he quietly marched towards me, coming from my right. A sigh of relief rushed out of my lungs and I dropped down to the leaf-covered floor a few yards away from the bodies. Laughter coursed through my body and I shook my head.   
  
"In the middle of fighting walkers you decide to go pee, Dixon?" I asked incredulously with a chuckle. The man shrugged and shifted his crossbow.   
  
"There was only one left. Looked like ya could manage," he mumbled and made his way around me, completely ignoring my gaze.   
  
I scoffed and stood up, brushing off leaves and dirt off my pants.  
We'd been in the woods for a while now which meant that it shouldn't be too far until we got to the road that the prison bus probably used to get the hell out. The both of us walked in silence until we broke through the trees and saw the road.   
  
The hard paving beneath my feet was a nice change to the the uneven ground of the forest. A low snarl made us snap our attention to the stray walker wandering the street.  
In a flash it was down, an arrow protruding from it's eye.   
  
Daryl moved forward to retrieve his arrow. While it was an effective weapon, it was easy to run out of arrows and the man treated every arrow as if it was his last.   
  
"Micaela," he called out and I slowly made my way towards him. He gestured to the corpse and looked at me through his shaggy hair before quickly pulling his eyes away from mine. I analyzed the body before realizing that it was a familiar face - she was part of the group from Woodbury that had found a safe haven in the prison.   
  
"She was on the bus. 'M sure of it," Daryl mumbled before taking off. I ran close behind him as we sped down the road. An object on the horizon made us speed up our pace until we were a few yards away - we stopped dead in our tracks, panting heavily.   
  
The bus was parked in the middle of the road with the emergency exit doors open - otherwise looking perfect. The only thing wrong were the walkers laying inside and around the bus, each of them with a wound to the head.  
Daryl raised his crossbow and we carefully maneuvered our way around the corpses, scanning each face for familiarity. Mangled corpses decorated with blood and old clothing lay tauntingly on the floor, their dead faces seemingly saying, _'Look at me! I'm a friend and I'm dead because neither of you could save me! Ha!'_  
Daryl solemnly marched through the masses, and my insides felt hot with sadness for all these dead people. So many of them were kind - I didn't have to know them in order to know that.   
  
The tip of my shoe nudged each body to take a look at whatever face may be attached to it, and I was grateful that I didn't recognize anyone. There were easily 60 corpses of people that were alive and well not that long ago. Something must have gone wrong. The lack of our close friends gave me a sick sense of relief; that means they got out. At least most of them.  
I stared at one corpse specifically laying face down on the tarmac, its black hair still looking shiny. A silver chain draped over its slender fingers. Fear coursed though me and I tentatively stepped closer - it was Glenn's pocket watch that Hershel had given him. Tears pricked at my eyes.   
  
"No no no no no no," I whispered frantically like a madman. I couldn't lose Glenn. There was no way someone like him dies anyways, right? That cheerful smile was great at eluding death, who became a frequent visitor in these last months.  
My jeans resisted as I squatted low to the ground. With trembling fingers I carefully picked up the pocket watch and clutched it to my chest before facing my fears. But I had to know for sure.  
I lightly rolled the body onto its side, the head flopping like a rag-doll with the movement. The exposed face did not belong to Glenn, and I breathed out a sigh of relief.   
  
Boots smacked the ground as Daryl jumped out of the bus and brushed past me without a glance.   
  
"None of our friends are here, Daryl," I said softly. I was relieved to know that none of the bodies were theirs, but that begged the question - where the hell were they?   
  
"They killed these walkers after somethin' went wrong. They were definitely here." He turned around to face me with his crossbow hanging low to the ground. My brows furrowed as I noticed him look past me and not at me, as if my eyes would burn holes into him.   
  
"Yeah, I know." I dangled the pocket watch in the air before carefully placing it inside my backpack - it would be returned to its rightful owner. Daryl nodded his head and stared up at the sky. The dull gray contrasted with the thicker dark clouds which were pregnant with rain. Almost as if on cue, small droplets began to softly fall from the sky.   
  
***   
  
The rain had officially soaked us. It came down so hard that the two empty water bottles among Daryl and I had been filled up in about a minute. The drizzle had started off peaceful, decorating the earth with smell of rain and life; but after 20 minutes the archer was shaking and so was I.  
Fat hard drops of water landed on us from the trees above, which did little to shield us from the harsh elements.   
  
I thought back to the flurry of lines and landmarks carefully set out on the surely soaking wet map. Taking into consideration the road we'd found the bus on, I knew more or less where we were. Or so I hoped.   
  
"There should be a country club around here," I yelled over the downpour to an unbothered Daryl. His hair clung to his face which was being washed clean by the harsh rain. He said nothing, but followed as I blindly took the lead.   
  
The loud rain made it difficult to hear and see walkers, which we were soon accompanied by. Soaked clothing weighed me down as I fought, and Daryl squinted through the sheets of water to get a good shot. We were strong but not stupid. It was time to run. With a dozen hungry walkers on our heels, Daryl and I ran aimlessly. Drops pelted and stung my skin.   
  
Daryl yelled incoherently, but the small cabin nestled in the trees gave me an indication as to what he might've said. Running faster than ever, we pushed through the thin wooden door and shut it quickly. My skin tingled with the absence of pelting drops and we panted heavily, our saturated bodies dripping pools of water onto the floor.   
  
The house seemed devoid of walkers, but was utterly trashed. It was good enough.   
  
I stripped off my top shirt and dropped it to the messy ground with a sad squelching noise. Newspapers and other trash were scattered all over the dusty wooden floorboards, sprinkled with a large amount of cigarette butts.  
A big sofa sat against the wall. It was a mixture of different textures and shades of brown; but whether those were stains or just the upholstery I didn't know.   
  
Daryl trudged over to the dirty chair and wetly flopped down in it with a sigh.   
  
"This place is a piece of crap," I said as I held up a giant astray made to look like plump breasts held firmly in place by a pink bra.   
  
"My old man had one just like it," Daryl responded as his eyes scanned the room. I nodded and continued browsing through the mess. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see him peel off his sopping vest and shirt, making my stomach ball up into a tight not.   
  
_Stop it._   
  
I shook my head and turned into another room, smaller and more cramped. A giant bronze cylinder sitting in the corner of the room made me plaster a grin onto my face.   
  
Bolting around the small counter in the center of the room, I stopped when I found what I was looking for - a crate filled with jars, each containing a clear liquid. My freezing hands gripped the splintering wood of the crate and I lifted the heavy jars into the next room, loudly dumping them on the floor in front of Daryl.   
  
This was probably a bad idea considering that I had an incredible lack of self-control when it came to alcohol and that it was best for us to be alert in order to avoid being eaten... but I couldn't help myself.   
  
"Moonshine?" He raised his eyebrows, chewing on a fingernail. The rain continued to slap in hard sheets against the house, and I shrugged.   
  
"If we're gonna be stuck in here we might as well make the most of it," I explained and dropped to the floor next to the chair, passing Daryl a brown jar. He stared at it for a while before snatching it from my grasp. Smiling, I unscrewed the lid of my own jar and took a big swig before scrunching up my face. It was disgusting.   
  
The archer sipped on it as if it were a fine whiskey. He stared absently at the small box TV in front of him. Since last night - my stomach buzzed at the thought - I'd noticed that Daryl had been cold. Colder than usual. Though I didn't want to admit it, I knew it was the truth and it was eating away at me the way termites eat away the foundations of a wooden house. It all felt so middle school-ish; you admit to your crush that you like them and they like you, but then in the school hallways you avoid each other like the plague.   
  
I took another gulp of the nasty alcohol and stared at a strange brown stain on the floor. My ears tuned into the rain pouring outside and my body shivered, reminding me that I was wet. I got up and the world swayed around me; then I sipped more and searched the house for something warm. It was a real crappy place but someone had lived here, so there had to be something here. It didn't take long for me to find what I assume was the bedroom; a gross-looking double bed was pressed against an equally gross-looking wall, and a tiny dresser covered in dirty laundry stood opposite the bed. I stumbled my way over to the dresser and managed to find clothes, my eyes landing on a massive sweater. Peeling off my remaining clothes, I slipped into the ugly beige sweater and made my way back to the sitting room.   
  
Daryl stared at my exposed legs and quickly looked away. I huffed in frustration and swallowed the remnants of my drink. Bending down to the crate I grabbed another jar and opened it, taking a large sip. I could feel the heat in my face and the sway of my vision, but I didn't care.   
  
"Slow down," Daryl grumbled.   
  
"What are you? My dad?" I responded childishly and took another sip to drown the thoughts of my father that suddenly popped up in my mind. I flopped down to the ground and some of the clear liquid spilled onto the floor, making me giggle.   
  
"Don't say that," he snapped at me, making me cringe slightly.   
  
"Yes, Mr.Dixon," I offered him a salute and sipped more of my drink, then leaned my back against the wall to face Daryl. An annoyed expression crossed his face and he glared at me. At least he was looking at me. I giggled at the childishness of the thought.   
  
"Don't say that either," he downed the rest of his drink and stood up from the chair, angrily crossing the room.   
  
"What the hell is your problem?" The question just blurted out of me, my near drunken state cancelling out any verbal filter I might have had. Daryl turned abruptly to face me, his cheeks also looking slightly flushed from the moonshine.   
  
"What the hell is _my_ problem? You're the one acting like a kid" He yelled and I flinched, all humor draining out of me just like my sobriety had.   
My vision was trained on the a broken chair leaning against the dirty wall, the wooden structure of it mostly chipped away. The chair was moving. Wait, it was the world that was moving. Yes, that's right. The world was spinning. Why was the world spinning? I tipped my head back and poured the drink down my throat.   
  
"You're pushing me away."   
  
"Don't know what ya talkin' about," he stomped across the room and turned his back to me. The rain had quieted down now, so my thoughts were loud in my mind without any other sound to drown them out. My face flushed, but it wasn't from the alcohol. I was angry.   
  
I stood up and leaned against the wall for support, slamming my jar down on a nearby coffee table.  
"Stop it! You know what I'm talking about!"   
  
"You're drunk." He finished off the second jar of moonshine and I realized that he had to be drunk too. Daryl dropped the empty jar to the ground and brushed past me, grabbing a refill.   
  
"Don't dismiss me like that! You don't have to push me away. When will you realize that not everyone is going to hurt you?" My throat burned with my yelling and I stormed towards him, placing my small hands on Daryl's warm face. He roughly pushed me away and I stumbled slightly, hurt by his reaction.   
  
"Ya don't know shit," Daryl spat and placed the drink down. Avoiding my gaze, he stormed towards the broken chair and kicked it angrily across the room. For the briefest moment, I was scared. My father used to kick the furniture around or throw shit across the room as if they were darts and I was the target. That was before he got to the 'beating me' part.   
  
"I get it," I whispered quietly, barely audible even over the soft sound of rain.  
"When you look at me you just see another dead girl, don't you?"   
  
Anger flashed in his eyes and for the first time today, Daryl's eyes stared into my own. His boots stomped across the messy floor and he marched towards me.   
  
"No," was all he said. I could feel his intoxicating breath on my skin, adding to the effect of the moonshine.   
  
"Then what? What do you see?" I challenged him as I stared into his cold blue eyes. He didn't respond with words, but rather by his lips crushing against mine.   
  
My fingers tangled into his shaggy hair as we kissed furiously and desperately, our alcohol-tinged breaths charged with electricity. My back pressed against the wall as his warm hands found the edge of the borrowed sweater before slipping under and onto the skin of my hips. His touch made me dizzy and breathless. The cool air caressed my skin as Daryl carefully pulled the sweater off over my head, leaving me exposed.  
I worked at removing his clothes until there was no barrier between us. No walls. No blocks. No hesitancy. Our bodies pressed against each other as we made our way to the ugly chair, lips moving in unison.   
  
He laid me down carefully on the sofa and my heart beat loudly in my ears. His skin was browned and warm, and I stared at him. Daryl's body was perfectly sculpted from the cold features of his face, now flushed with excitement, down to his exposed hips and legs. My stomach knotted as he made his way on top of me, lips against my neck.   
  
A small moan escaped me as his hands explored my scarred body, and my fingers traced against his scarred back. I could feel his tongue on my skin, making my fuzzy mind swim. My own hands ran along his skin and found the center of his hips, my fingers moving and making him moan lightly with pleasure.   
  
_This escalated quickly,_ I smiled at the thought.   
  
He tasted like liquor and sweat, but oh did he make me wildly intoxicated with every breath and every kiss. Every movement between us felt like a piece of the world being put back together, and as pleasure flooded the pit of my stomach I could've sworn the world was perfect. 


End file.
